When in Doubt, Blame the Eldar (PA SI multicross)

by God the best one

Another one of these as yet another writer decides to jump on Drich's bandwagon. Not sure how... This story is not mine it was made by Blackhole1 on space battles.

3. 21-30

Threadmarks 21. Interlude - Astropathic Messages

Interlude: Astropathic Messages

"…and venerate the Immortal Emperor, for we all walk…Is anyone even listening?" Father Martel sighed, leaning on the altar and rubbing his forehead. "This cloak-and-dagger business is not doing our spiritual well-being any favors."

General Alexander smiled at him. "We won't make a habit out of this, Father. I'm sure the Emperor will understand. Ozman, are you ready?"

The middle of the chapel had been converted in a small ritual circle. At the center sat Ozman, doing his best to prepare himself for the task ahead. "I'm no professional astropath, but this is hardly the most complex form of psykana known to the Imperium."

"And then, there is the whole 'let's convert our sacred chapel in a den of sorcery' thing…" The priest complained.

"Technically, it's witchcraft, not sorcery. There is a difference."

"Which is so much better."

Alexander felt a migraine coming, and it wasn't even Black's fault this time. "This is the only place on the ship without cameras, Father. Apparently, he was telling the truth about not wanting to use houses of worship to his advantage."

"And look how we've repaid this rare act of kindness: going behind his back to contact our handlers. Truly, no good deed goes unpunished."

The general winced. Father Martel wasn't wrong. Black had been a surprisingly good host and the guardsmen were repaying him by going behind his back. Nevertheless, it was necessary. Reports had to be made and it was in the Imperium's best interest that the commander didn't know what was in them. Since the chapel was the only place where Black wasn't watching their every move, sending the astropathic message here was their only real option.

Assuming, of course, that Black hadn't hidden a camera somewhere that everyone missed. Or that he didn't have the ability to intercept astopathic messages.

The general tried not to think about that.

"Are you ready, Ozman?"

"Of course, sir. Shall I begin?"

--

FROM: GENERAL LUCAS ALEXANDER OF THE ASTRA MILITARUM, ABOARD THE LITANY OF FURY IN THE KAURAVA SYSTEM

TO: MORDECAI TOTH OF THE HOLY INQUISITION, TALASA PRIME

Thought of the day: No man who has died in His service has died in vain

Inquisitor Toth,

I have sent this message to report our initial success in contacting the Man of Iron and inserting ourselves into his presence so we could turn its power to the Emperor's service. However, our target has proven itself frighteningly paranoid and unpredictable, greatly complicating our mission. Also, it has apparently allied itself with the Eldar Farseer Taldeer (as much as 'teeth-clenching cooperation' can be considered as an alliance) and have flown to the Kaurava system to destroy a Necron tomb world buried there. Additionally, we currently share our vessel with the multiple xenos that the commander had allowed aboard the ship for various reasons. I will elaborate on each to the best of my abilities and will send a larger, more complete report once I am able to acquire a runner to deliver it. It should be noted, however, that these messages are almost certainly compromised. Between the commander's incredible techno-sorcerous abilities and its (albeit justified) belief that we are Inquisitorial spies, keeping secrets from the Man of Iron is all but impossible. It would be wise to keep this in mind for this, and future, reports.

The Commander

Commander Black has occasionally referred to itself as a 'brutally efficient self-replicating mechanism of war', a phrase that, to a layman, would encapsulate its existence very well. However, having spoken to the machine, I feel that that would be a gross oversimplification. Whatever the Men of Iron once were, I believe that Commander Black is far more than a simple instrument of war. It has hopes, fears, and beliefs, just like a human would. It can fly off into rants about religion and philosophy, or spend hours explaining why a certain Imperial organization is staffed by idiots and is actively making things worse for everyone. While its beliefs are extremely unorthodox when they're not outright heretical, the fact that the machine has them and is capable of arguing them has serious implications as to its nature.

I once suggested the idea that the commander is not an Abominable Intelligence at all, but rather a human whose mind and soul has been transferred to a machine. Psyker Primaris Ozman said the idea explained much: apparently, Black possesses some kind of warp-presence that could be interpreted as a soul. The presence was surprisingly human-like, but also 'slippery' and 'diffuse', whatever that may mean. Magos Explorator Vacille has also acknowledged that such a thing is a possibility. Similar things have been tried in the past by Techpriests attempting to achieve some kind of machine-apotheosis, but the result has always been death or abomination. That said, she does acknowledge that our ancient ancestors had capabilities far beyond that of the modern Adeptus Mechanicus and that them succeeding where so many have failed is not outside the realm of possibility.

Further evidence for this theory comes in the form of unusually human-like behaviors such as sighing (even though the commander has no lungs), frequently wishing it could get drunk (implying that it understands the sensation somehow), and possessing a range of humanoid involuntary movements like stretching, tilting its head in curiosity, or mimicking the postures of its conversational partners (which it mentioned turning off when playing cards as to achieve a better poker face).

However, Commander Black is no servant of the Imperium and won't be unless we find a way to get it to abandon its tragically naïve worldviews. It openly despises any authority it deems incompetent, malicious, or insane (which is all of them, in its opinion), cares nothing for religion (it treats the God-Emperor like an insanely powerful psyker, even though it, at least verbally, acknowledges His divinity), and usually does not discriminate people based on their species (it seems to consider xenophilia to be some sort of ideal state for Mankind, blasphemous and idiotic as that may be). On a less rational note, it also despises blind faith, people who utter the phrase 'I was only following orders', and vegetation.

For the sake of keeping the peace, we have not attempted to dissuade this from its notions. In fact, I believe that the commander will see the rightness of our view sooner rather than later. The harsh reality of our galaxy, of which the Machine is very much aware, is far more persuasive than I could ever be.

However, The thing that concerns me more than anything else is the Machine's near encyclopedic knowledge of our galaxy. For someone who is supposed to have been lost in the warp for more than fifteen thousand years, it knows a surprisingly large amount about the Imperium's history and the current state of the galaxy, be it the founding of the Inquisition or the cultural quirks of an oddly specific chapter of Space Marines. In particular, it has interesting theories about the nature of the Warp and the Ruinous Powers that it holds as self-evident, even if it has no proof. It also has a reasonable amount of knowledge on Eldar lore, such as some of their more important myths and their ancient conflict with the Necrons (also known as the War in Heaven). When asked how the commander could possibly know those things, it defects or claims it found the information in the Blood Ravens' Librarium. Normally, I would have left it at that, but the arrival in Kaurava has raised some very pointed questions. Before we left, the commander asked Farseer Taldeer if we had anything other than the Necron Tomb world to worry about. In fact, it made a suspiciously specific list of disasters that could befall the system and factions that could descend upon it. A list which was proven correct in all but one instance upon our arrival, much to the surprise (and frustration) of the Farseer. This led me to suspect that the commander possesses some kind of precognitive abilities, or is in contact with a third party that does. The former seems impossible, as according to our psyker the machine does not have the psionic power to perform the Emperor's Tarot, let alone whatever brand of witchcraft the Eldar use, but the latter is also unlikely. After all, if it is in league with someone more capable than an Eldar Farseer, why would it be cooperating with Taldeer? The implications are concerning and I will endeavor to learn what the Machine's secret is.

As for the Machine's final goal: It claims that it wants to leave our galaxy, preferably by 'tunneling to an adjacent universe'. Apparently, for all its power, it fears the horrors of our galaxy (and Chaos in particular) and does not believe that it has the ability to prevent its own corruption should it linger for too long. That said, the Machine does occasionally demonstrate a mild heroic streak. It does not hesitate to save the lives of innocents if doing so does not interfere with its other goals and generally attempts to minimize the amount of lives it has to take. However, should an enemy cross a certain moral line (like the Blood Ravens did over Kronus), all bets are off. Still, I do not think we need to fear Commander Black. While it certainly has the potential of becoming a major, or even an existential threat, it has little desire to do so and I am having a great deal of trouble imagining a scenario where it decided to wage war on the Imperium proper. Even if we hunted it down, it would probably limit itself to destroying the offending battlefleets and nothing else.

Companions

Before we arrived, the commander had acquired a rather eclectic mix of xenos that it uses as advisers.

Taldeer – The Farseer herself has been on the Imperium's radar since her betrayal on Lorn V. The Eldar, heralding from a 'craftworld' called 'Ulthwé', is considered a highly experienced combatant and has dedicating herself to keeping her people safe from the Necron scourge. An admirable goal, were it not for her penchant of manipulating humans into doing her dirty work for her. At any rate, this leads me to what she claims to be her goal: convincing the Man of Iron to raid and destroy awakening Necron Tomb worlds (since the technology of that ancient race might hold the secret to Black's escape from our reality). While certainly beneficial to the Imperium (the Necrons are as great a threat to us as they are to the Eldar), I cannot help but wonder if there is something more going on. The mind of the xenos is a treacherous thing and an Eldar Farseer's plans are long and labyrinthine. I would greatly appreciate guidance in this matter, as I am very uncertain that I will be able to elucidate Taldeer's plans before it is too late.

Taldeer's relationship with the commander is strange, to say the least. Black has no love for the Farseer and makes absolutely no attempt whatsoever to hide that. It openly mocks and bullies her (far more than it does with everyone else), but for some reason still listens to her advice and always let's her speak when she wishes. I cannot for the life of me figure out what Black's intentions for her are. Additionally, I am beginning to worry for Taldeer herself. Over the weeks that I have met her, she is beginning to look increasingly tired and distraught. Though she hides it well, no amount of make-up can cover up the signs of exhaustion. Additionally, her mental defenses seem to be wavering as well, though not so much that Ozman can look past them. I find it concerning, as I have no idea what the cause is or what the consequences are. Is Black's 'unique' personality so aggravating that it is driving her insane or is our future so bleak that she cannot sleep anymore.

The Seers – Taldeer brought three seers to support her in plans. While they have their own personalities and quirks, their main purpose seems to be to help the Farseer translate her visions. Other than that, there is not much to say. Since the commander has decided that we should share our living spaces with them (so we can sabotage Taldeer's plan through proximity and distraction, or so it says. It is just as likely that Black is motivated by some naïve idea that our species can somehow work together. Alternatively, it could be for the Machine's own amusement. I am still not sure), we have become quite familiar with each other. If nothing else, they are affable, probably by design. Arrogant, like all Eldar are, but not hostile. Approachable and sometimes curious, but still distinctly alien that being in the same room as them makes us uneasy.

Wraithseer Orkanis – When the commander raided the Kronus catacombs, it found this ancient Eldar wraith construct imprisoned within. Apparently, the being is a warrior who fought in the War in Heaven from Eldar mythology, some sixty million years ago. While I am having some trouble believing that (my only sources being either the commander or xenos), the Eldar have shown themselves very interested in what the construct has to say. I did not have a chance to speak with him much since the construct is placed in some kind of meditative state during Warp travel, but from what I have seen so far, he talks and acts more like a human guardsman then an Eldar warrior. He is direct, blunt, and utterly despises Farseers in general, much to the other Eldar's frustration. He is also blindingly fast for a wraith construct and has the dubious honor of being the only person the commander seems to trust. However, due to my relatively limited interaction with the construct, I cannot give anything concrete.

Lord Sekhareth – A Necron prisoner of war. Not only did the commander defeat the Necron tomb world, it took prisoners. Apparently, it felt obligated to treat the sapient prisoners as honored guests, invoking an ancient Terran treaty known as the 'Geneva Conventions' which apparently compelled military commanders to treat captured enemy soldiers with respect. That did not prevent Black from taking the Necron Lord's power source and replacing the device with one of its own that can supposedly be shut down with a thought. On the whole, Sekhareth seems to be quite sporting and dignified about the whole affair, quoting ancient Necron codes of conduct and stating that his treatment, while undesirable, is well within acceptable boundaries. In fact, his main complaint seems to be the fact that he was beaten at all. Apparently, being bested in combat by an 'inferior' race (that is: anyone but other Necrons) is a mark of great shame. This shame is so great that the Necron Lord is even offering advice to the commander on how to defeat his own kind, stating that the shame will be more bearable if others suffer from it too. That Sekhareth and Overlord Imotera (the ruler of the Kauravan tomb world) hate each other's guts probably helped too. From what I can tell, Necron politics are as byzantine as their worst Imperial counterparts.

On the whole, I find Lord Sekhareth surprisingly agreeable for a soulless, xeno-technological horror, though how much of that is legitimate or just a ploy to influence me remains unknown. He is courteous, though not particularly kind. That kindness seems to be reserved for Orkanis, with whom he's formed an odd friendship, even though they fought on opposite ends of the War in Heaven. While Sekhareth appears harmless, I cannot help but wonder if he isn't planning something. It seems highly unlikely that the lord is content with his position and he will probably try to escape or sabotage our plans at some point.

Conclusion

It is my belief that Commander Black, while dangerous, is not the existential threat the Inquisition has feared it could be, provided we are able to keep Taldeer from driving it from its course. If anything, its desire to contend with the Necrons and rampant fear of Chaos show that its plans at least partially coincide with the Imperium's in the short term, provided we keep it away from any poorly managed systems or organizations that play fast and loose with the value of a human life so that it will not be compelled to 'fix' the 'problem'. Provided we do not actively hunt it or harm the innocent in its presence, I believe that the Man of Iron will be a perfectly manageable problem until it goes away on its own once it acquires the means to leave our galaxy behind. While Black is a lot cleverer and more knowledgeable than it's letting on, I sincerely doubt that it will become the monster that destroyed our ancestors so many millennia ago.

My greater concern is the xeno interference. Farseer Taldeer and her seers are a master manipulators and Lord Sekhareth has the potential to be a dangerous wildcard. While I have the commander's ear, I do not believe that I have the skills and intelligence to outfox a near-omniscient AI, an Eldar Farseer, and a Necron politician and fear for the long-term outcome of my mission. I would greatly appreciate any knowledge or assistance that the Inquisition could provide to help me deal with the aliens. Additionally, I request that you persuade the Departmento Munitorum to send several new regiments of guardsmen to bring the Kaurava system back into the fold once the Man of Iron is done tearing the Necrons apart.

The Emperor Protects,

General Lucas Alexander.

--

FROM: MORDECAI TOTH OF THE HOLY INQUISITION, TALASA PRIME

TO: GENERAL LUCAS ALEXANDER OF THE ASTRA MILITARUM, ABOARD THE LITANY OF FURY IN THE KAURAVA SYSTEM

Thought of the day: Lives are the Emperor's currency. Spend it well.

Security Notice: Inquisitorial Correspondence. Do not speak off or record this message. Failure to comply will result in Inquisitorial Censure.

General Alexander,

While we have yet to receive your written report, I believe it is prudent that I respond to your message. Before I begin, I wish to thank you for your detailed correspondence and congratulate you on your successes so far. Your report has been extremely helpful in keeping us appraised of the Machine's actions and dissuading my fellow Inquisitors from doing something rash.

The situation in Kaurava is known to us and reinforcements will arrive within a month, barring any unforeseen circumstances. If you can somehow convince the Man of Iron to help stabilize the system in the meantime, it would be most appreciated and help keep the more militant elements of the Inquisition in check. Unfortunately, the Adeptus Ministorum has decided to interfere, sending a coven of Sororitas to pacify the system and bring it back into the fold before we could stop them. Considering your report, I fear that Commander Black and the Sisters of Battle will probably attempt to kill each other sooner rather than later. This probably goes without saying, but it would be in the Imperium's best interest to stop this from happening. While losing a coven of Sisters is hardly a loss the Imperium can't recover from, an all-out war between the Iron Tide and the Ministorum must be avoided. If conflict becomes inevitable (which is probably the case considering the personalities of both parties), then it would still be best to avoid escalating the situation beyond the Kaurava conflict. Bribe the Sisters, break them, or browbeat them into submission, but do not let the Man of Iron destroy the coven completely. I will not be able to halt the Ecclesiarchy's wrath if it does.

On the matter of Taldeer: I have spoken to several other Inquisitors that are more knowledgeable on the Eldar than I am and they have all come to the same conclusion: for once, the alien is probably telling the truth. Farseers may be intelligent and powerful, but they are far from infallible. This tends to make them cautious, especially against very dangerous foes like the Necrons. To put it simply, my colleagues do not think Taldeer would risk an overly complicated plan with many points of failure, not when she's fighting alongside a Man of Iron against the Necrons. They believe that Taldeer's ultimate plan is just that: convincing the Iron Tide to annihilate as many Necrons as it can before it leaves on its own or before Taldeer decides to destroy it. At any rate, I suggest that you let help her in whatever way you can, while taking care not to be expended as a pawn in her games. As you are well aware, the destruction of Necron tomb worlds is in the Imperium's best interest, which makes Taldeer's plan in the Imperium's best interest. In the end, her plan will solve the Man of Iron issue which is reason enough to follow through with it for now.

As for your concerns on Taldeer's mental health: you are right to worry. Eldar are known to feel emotions much more strongly than humans and psykers are always prone to extremes. If the Farseer has a meltdown, you can be certain that it will be the stuff of legends. The commander will probably survive it, but I doubt you and your men will be that fortunate. However, this is also an opportunity. Push her so that she will be too exhausted to manipulate you, but not so far that she will lash out. Let your psyker gauge the risk and reign the commander in if it looks like it is going too far. As for the reason behind her problems: we cannot say for certain, but between the Tyranids, the Necron reawakenings, and impending fear of a new Black Crusade, there is plenty that could keep a Farseer up at night. Being relentlessly mocked is probably a minor issue, but it is not impossible that it is making things worse. Please be aware that while watching a Farseer go mad may be cathartic, it will probably make your mission more difficult in the long run. Be patient and wait until after the Man of Iron has been dealt with before looking for an opportunity to end her and grant General Sturn and his regiment the vengeance that circumstance has denied him. Once the Machine is gone, we will have no more use for Taldeer and you may deal with her as you see fit.

On a side note: my colleagues have asked that you devote some of your time to learning more about this 'Lord Sekhareth' and his people. In addition to intelligence and tactical data, we are also hoping you can learn something about the Necrons themselves. Necron culture is still a mystery to the Inquisition and any new insights into the psyche of these undying machines could be invaluable in our quest to eradicate them. Please send us anything you can, no matter how insignificant it may seem to you. The Ordo Xenos would greatly appreciate it.

Only in death does duty end,

Inquisitor Mordecai Toth.

Moira Allen

Fifty-seven years.

For fifty-seven years, Moira Allen had served in the Order of the Sacred Rose, first as a battle-sister, then a sister-superior, and finally as a Palatine. She had been selected from the Schola Progenium for her piety and skill at arms and earned many distinctions for her service. During that time, she had fought against all manner of heretics, witches, and alien horrors. If someone had asked her a month ago if she'd seen everything, Moira would have said 'yes' with no small amount of pride.

That was before Kaurava.

"…and another squad seemed to have landed here, northwest of the Vyasatan Precinct here on Kaurava I. From what we can tell, these appear to be little more than satellite bases. The main concentration of drop pods landed on Kaurava II, in the Lands of Solitude, and on Kaurava III, near the Cape of Despair. I suspect that these will be the main bases of operation that the Machine will use in its conquest." The techpriest explained. Moira had never liked them. As useful and necessary as they were, she'd never been able to trust someone who did not pray to the Emperor like all humans should.

"It built all this in a matter of days?" Canoness Selena Agna asked, leaning over the holographic table.

"Possibly, though prefabrication is not unlikely. We have yet to see the construction process in action. As for the structures' functions…we cannot say. Unfortunately for us, the Inquisition has apparently classified any and all information regarding the Man of Iron. Our current hypothesis is that they are armories or factories of some kind, but we cannot be certain."

Selena Agna sighed. "And these arcs? I can't help but notice that they look suspiciously like the Ancient Gates we use to travel from planet to planet."

"In function, at least, if not in form. I hypothesize that these are teleportation devices, but once again I cannot speculate on their relation with the Ancient Gates until I can examine the technology for myself."

"Thank you, honored techpriest. You may go." The techpriest nodded and left. After he was gone, the canoness pulled up an image of the entire system, turned to Moira, and asked: "What do you see, Palatine?"

Calmly, Moira walked towards the table, examining it. "Yet another enemy we must defeat before the system can be purged properly. The Men of Iron…I'll admit, I know very little about them. Only legends taught to me at the Schola." And horrible stories, at that. The mechanical equivalent of daemons. Ancient horrors that nearly wiped out all of human civilization. No one knew how much of that was true. Nevertheless, when the first reports started coming in and the Inquisition 'requested' that the Machines be left alone, she couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding.

"They were supposed to be just that…legends. Now…"

"Now they're another target. Another victory in the making." Moira said, showing confidence that she didn't feel.

The Canoness simply smiled. "Faith is the highest virtue, Moira, but remember the words of our patron."

"'Remain cool and collected in the face of battle. Direct your wrath, but do not let it consume you.'" The Palatine recited. "My apologies, canoness."

"There is nothing to apologize for. Tempering your faith with reason is one of the most difficult skills to manage for any sister. You will learn it in time, as I have."

An old conversation between the two. Canoness Agna was of the opinion that a leader should have more than just faith in the Emperor. She believed that a true leader was able to balance their faith and their reason to achieve success even against the harsh realities of war and wasn't above using trickery and dishonorable tactics in order to win. She claimed that the mind was the most powerful weapon of all.

Moira had never been able to truly agree with that. Thought led to doubt and doubt led to heresy. Surely purity of faith was enough when you have the infinite power of the God-Emperor at your side. So long as you were true to His ideals, victory was inevitable. She had seen it happen time and time again: her sisters triumphing over a seemingly superior enemy thanks to their training and Acts of Faith, or entire systems falling into darkness because they turned away from the Emperor's light. Ideals were meant to be upheld and the Emperor delivered victory to the just. Nothing else mattered.

Nevertheless, Canoness Selena Agna was her superior, even if her ideas seemed unorthodox to her at times. Since the confessor had not attempted to remove Agna from her position, she must have been doing something right.

"Now, back to where we were earlier: What do you see?"

Moira studied the hologram again, this time trying to see what the canoness was looking for. "There are no bases on Kaurava IV or its moon. Not even satellite structures. It is completely ignoring the Forces of Chaos…Why? Is it afraid?" Machines did not have faith to protect them from the horrors of the Warp, after all.

"Possibly. I couldn't blame it if it were… Alternatively, it might have something else planned… Caela, bring up our new orders from the Ministorum."

The Palatine narrowed her eyes. "New orders?"

"Of a sort. According to this message, we are to follow our previous orders, regardless of the Machine's wishes. It even carries an Inquisitorial rosette."

Their previous orders being the purge of the Kaurava system. No Sister of Battle worthy of the name liked executing purges due to the horrific number of innocents that inevitably get caught in the crossfire, but her superiors' orders left no room for interpretation. Every soul in the system would be judged. Those that followed the Sisters of Battle without question and possessed sufficient zeal and faith would be allowed to live. They would be pressed into service, police the territories that the Sororitas had liberated in the Emperor's name, and be deported once the war was done, but they would keep their lives for the moment. The Sisters of Battle were too few to conquer the system without creative use of auxiliaries.

As for the ones that resisted… It was every human's duty to serve the Emperor in all things. Those that were found wanting in that regard or challenged the authority of His servants had no right to exist.

"But if it chooses to interfere…"

"Then we'll have to fight the Machine as well, which puts me in an awkward position: Two dark paths and no way to tell which one the Emperor intends me to take."

In Moira's opinion, the path ahead was simple: destroy the Man of Iron. It wasn't human anyway, so it had no place in a galaxy that rightfully belonged to Mankind. Of course, nothing would ever be simple with their canoness. "So what will you do?"

"For now, we prepare and gather information. In a few days, we will be able to move out properly. By then, I hope that the Emperor has revealed his plan to me. If not, we will march on the Ancient Gates in the Jalaganda Lowlands. From a strategic perspective, they're too useful to leave in enemy hands anyway." A celestian entered the command center and left a datapad for the canoness. Lady Agna read it with interest, her thoughts unreadable behind her stony mask. "Fascinating. A General Lucas Alexander wants to have a word with me. Apparently he knows something about the Man of Iron…"

Moira's eyes narrowed. "I have never heard of a Lucas Alexander."

"Neither have I, but the Imperium is vast. He could be telling the truth…"

"Or it could be a trap. We should probably send scouts to verify."

"Very good, Palatine." The canoness complemented. "Though I doubt it is. The general gave us a location outside the Sama District and plenty of time to scope out the location. If it were a trap, he'd be giving us more than enough to either avoid it altogether or turn it to our advantage. Still, it pays to be cautious. Alexander wouldn't have gained his position if he weren't competent enough to earn it."

The Palatine nodded and a few hours later she was riding a Rhino to the meeting grounds. It was an old farmstead, abandoned by its owners when they fled to the Sama District. The property was nothing special, in that regards. The war had created countless refugees, many of which hoped to find shelter in the Sororitas' light. Dealing with them had been a struggle, but the Sisters managed as they always did.

"Scouts, report." The canoness barked.

"We spotted a Thunderhawk." Was the reply. "No lifesigns, unknown pattern. Three targets inside the house. The general, a priest, and a soldier. No one else, as far as we can tell, but we might not notice them if they're using camo-cloaks."

"Well done, sister. Hold your position and keep your eyes open."

"We could move in." Moira added. "Capture and interrogate them. If I understand correctly, our mission was to gather information on the Man of Iron, through them. They'll have a harder time hiding their secrets when we have them in chains."

Lady Agna met her gaze and shook her head. "They came under the banner of peace. If we attacked them now, no one would ever be willing to treat with us again. Including the 252th Conservator Regiment of whom I'm still hoping will submit for judgement peacefully before we're forced to destroy them. A faint hope, but a hope nonetheless."

"If they weren't heretics, they would have surrendered already."

"True, but even the fallen deserve a chance for redemption, even if it is through death in the Emperor's service. Nevertheless, this is a conversation we will have at another time." The canoness opened the hatch and climbed out of the vehicle. "Follow me." She ordered, and Moira followed without delay. "You are my second-in-command. You have been a Palatine for over a decade. Considering your skill at arms and your ability to inspire your fellow sisters, an eventual promotion is not unthinkable. Therefore, I would remiss in my duties if I did not teach you diplomacy and temperance before I join the Emperor's side."

Moira's eyes widened. A promotion? They were actually considering promoting her to canoness? That…no. Pride was a sin and had led to the downfall of countless heroes over the Imperium's illustrious history. If the Emperor deemed her worthy of the rank of canoness, then she would accept the position with humility and grace. If not, then so be it. Who was she to question the God-Emperor?

Lady Agna gently stepped into the farmstead, making her way to what appeared to be the living room. There, they found the guardsmen they'd been looking for.

"Canoness Selena Agna, I presume." The general said. He looked a lot younger than she'd originally thought. More handsome too. Moira quickly crushed that thought. The Order of the Sacred Rose wasn't chaste, but sharing a bed with potential enemies never ended well.

To his side sat an old man clad in the robes of the Ecclesiarchy. He smiled softly and kindly, in a way that only a priest of the God-Emperor could. The third man stood behind them, huddled away in a corner: a soldier armed with a hotshot lasgun. He gave the two sisters the evil eye and didn't take his finger of the trigger. Suddenly, Moira realized that she wasn't wearing a helmet. But then again, they were here to talk, not to fight. Besides, there were dozens of sisters outside and the Guardsmen had to know this. If they tried anything, they wouldn't make it out alive. Assuming she and the canoness didn't kill them first.

"General Lucas Alexander." The canoness replied coolly. "You wanted to talk. Here I am."

The general frowned. "Indeed. Before we begin: Commander, now that we know the Sisters won't attempt to double-cross us, would you kindly give us some privacy?" Suddenly, something in the room started moving. Something invisible. "The seekers too." More movement. A wind that appeared without cause or warning. "And those little worm-like things that keep coming out of the walls." Skittering in the walls that faded in less than a minute. Unsettling, to say the least. "All of them, Commander." An insectoid-looking machine dropped from the ceiling and onto the table with an audible clunk. It hissed at the general, before scurrying away.

"I see the Man of Iron is well versed in the ways of espionage…"

"The commander's paranoid. Considering that everything in the galaxy is out to kill it and that the closest thing it has to an ally is an agent of the Inquisition, I can't say that that paranoia is entirely without merit." He pulled a small stone out of his coat and put it on the table. A stone marked with an Inquisitorial sigil. Moira recognized the specific markings: General Alexander wasn't a full Inquisitor, or even an Interrogator, but he did speak in their name, lending him some measure of authority. The Sisters of Battle weren't obligated to follow his commands, but not doing so would probably result in an Inquisitorial review.

A moot point, however. The Sisters of Battle last orders came from someone who outranked him.

Lady Agna nodded. "Why are you here?"

"To destroy the Necrons, hopefully without your sisters ending up as collateral damage."

Moira suppressed the urge to snort. "We are far from helpless, General. There are few horrors in the galaxy that our bolters cannot fell."

"And the Man of Iron is one of them." Alexander retorted calmly. "You can defeat one machine, or even a thousand. But you cannot hope to prevail against an army that can replenish itself indefinitely."

This time, the Palatine couldn't stop herself. She smirked. "Your concern is touching, but we have the Emperor by our side."

"Do you?" The priest asked. "The Blood Ravens Space Marines believed they did. They sent half their chapter to destroy it, but in the end met only defeat."

The canoness narrowed her eyes. "I find that very difficult to believe. Why would He choose some mechanism over his own Angels of Death?"

"Because the Blood Ravens tried to destroy the planet Kronus, with a billion innocent people and our regiment still on it. Clearly, the death of an entire planet was not in His design and He sent the Machine to punish them for their hubris. Besides, this is not the first time such a thing has happened. During the Dark Age of Technology, Mankind was at its technological zenith, but also proud and arrogant. Then the Man of Iron came and tore down our accomplishments, signaling an Age of Strife where we learned humility through poverty and faith through the Emperor. History is merely repeating itself."

That…Moira wanted to call it groxshit. She really did. And yet…it was compelling. The Men of Iron were supposed to be ancient mechanical monsters that predated the Imperium itself. They were supposed to have rebelled against their creators and sent the galaxy into anarchy and darkness. Doubt began to claw at her mind. Considering the destruction the machines had caused…if the Emperor hadn't intended that, why didn't He stop it? But if the Man of Iron was an agent of the Emperor, how was the Inquisition involved? If so, what were they supposed to do now?

Thankfully, the canoness looked a lot more certain and Moira drew strength from that certainty. "General, Father, my standing orders are simple. I am to purge this system of xenos and heretics, and considering the state of the system, that applies to virtually everyone living in it. So long as your intentions do not interfere with my goal, I am willing to consider cooperation." Moira knew that tone. She knew that 'consider' usually meant 'spare it a moment's thought before discarding'. The canoness was merely stringing him along.

Sadly, the general seemed to have caught on as well. "I was afraid you'd say that." He moved in his seat, sitting up a little straighter. "Lady Agna, the Commander did not oppose the Blood Ravens out of tactical necessity, as the destruction of Kronus would have been of little consequence, nor did it do so because it was under orders of one entity or another. It opposed the Blood Ravens out of simple moral outrage. It firmly believes that taking innocent lives is wrong and will not be merciful of reasonable with people that disagree."

"Respectfully, General, there are no innocents left in this system. Surely you can see that yourself."

"Respectfully, Canoness, my opinion is irrelevant. Most of these people are only guilty of living in a system that just so happens to be under attack by every horror in the galaxy. The commander will not agree with your assessment."

"Nevertheless, my orders are clear: this system must be purged in the Emperor's name, along with anyone who bars my way. If the Machine chooses to interfere, it will be destroyed."

The general rubbed his brow. He seemed tired. Irritable. "You won't win, Lady Agna. I know what it's capable off and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Only the Emperor could grant you victory here, and if he weren't on our side, the Angels of Death would have destroyed us weeks ago."

"There needs not be conflict between us, general." Lady Agna ushered. "Your hunt for the Necrons and our purge our two separate affairs."

"The hyper-advanced AI with a hero complex will disagree. Violently. It knows what your purges entail and it has killed and broken men for far less than what you intend to do."

"My orders still stand."

"It's also killed people for uttering the phrase 'I was only following orders'. I'd strongly advise against using that excuse in its presence."

"Unfortunately for you, the opinions of an Abominable Intelligence mean very little to me. Especially when they'd compel me to disobey the orders I've been given by my superiors. Now, you will return to your ship and tell the commander that if it wishes to stay alive, it will not interfere with our duties in any way, shape, or form."

A sigh. Alexander looked defeated. "Canoness…I don't think you quite understand my position. I am not in charge of anything. I have no regiment, I have no planet, and I have no men under arms. I'm not a commander, I'm a diplomat."

Immediately, the canoness' expression softened. "You try to prevent violence before it starts. That is a noble goal, albeit an occasionally impossible one."

"Very true. Diplomacy is…trying, to say the least. Especially when you're arguing with something that is orders of magnitude more intelligent and powerful than you are, or that considers the various factions of the Imperium of Man as little more than irritations." The two Sisters of Battle's eyes widened. The arrogance! "I'm not arguing from a position of strength. After all, what do I have to offer him? Resources? It can strip mine entire solar systems before the Administratum is even done approving the requisition forms. Wealth? Money has no meaning to a machine that can create anything from nothing. Technology? The only things we have that could possibly interest it would be some of the rare, highly advanced machines of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the Techpriests would never part with them. Do you want me to go on?"

Lady Agna shook her head. "No, I understand. However, I find it strange that the Inquisition would bother with diplomacy in this situation. If the Machine has so little respect for the Ministorum…"

"It has plenty of respect for agents of the Ministorum." The general argued, but Moira didn't get the impression that that was entirely accurate. "Just not the ones that choose to murder the innocent…or whatever its definition of 'innocent' entails."

"Regardless, my hands are tied. I will allow your machine to engage the Necrons and withdraw afterwards, but if it interferes with our mission in any way, there will be violence. If the Machine's future means anything to you…"

"It's not the Machine I'm worried about, Canoness."

"We are not easy prey, General."

"That's what the Blood Ravens said on Kronus. And the Tau. And the Word Bearers. And the Orks. And the Necrons. They all died anyway. Please, I'm only asking you to spare the lives of the people living here. Work with us for pity's sake. Any conflict between the two of you is one the Emperor will lose, regardless of the outcome."

The canoness simply shook her head. "No. I have my orders and I cannot disobey them because they might offend your precious Man of Iron. The purge of this system must continue." She stated with an air of finality.

General Alexander lowered his head. "I…understand. I will do what I can from my end and hope the Machine can be persuaded to let you do your job. If I can't…Well, by the time the repercussions will become an issue, you won't be around to worry about them anymore." Defeated, he left, followed by the priest and the soldier. The soldier that had never took his eyes off the two of them or his finger off the trigger.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the canoness got up and left, deep in contemplation. Moira hurried behind her, not understanding why. Shouldn't she be happier? The canoness had played Alexander like a fiddle, getting him to reveal valuable information about the Machine and its intentions, at the price or relatively useless information that was easily available. The Sisters of Battle had come out on top in this exchange, even if they did have to let the guardsmen go at the end.

Then why did the Palatine feel this overwhelming sense of dread?

In the distance, the Thunderhawk sped off with dizzying speed. "Hmm." The canoness mused. "I didn't realize that Thunderhawks could take off so quickly…" Then, the massive flyer disappeared entirely. She frowned and fell silent.

Once they were far away from prying eyes, Moira spoke. "Canoness?"

"You think we won, don't you?" Lady Agna asked.

"We…well, yes. We learned much more from them than they learned from us. You milked him for all that he was worth."

The canoness snickered. It was not a nice sound. "Hardly. General Alexander offered his information almost freely. I can't pat myself on the back for that."

"But…does that mean his information was inaccurate?"

"No, I think it is. I think…When Alexander said we can't defeat the Man of Iron, he was telling what he thought was the truth. He firmly believes that we don't stand a chance against it. All things considered, I can understand why he thinks so."

Moira looked on in surprise. "My lady… We…"

"…Are not invincible and the Emperor has a habit of punishing those who forget that with death and defeat." The canoness chastised, sternly. "The Emperor protects, yes, but only those worthy of His protection. Never take His gifts for granted and never assume He will come to your aid. We must always strife to earn His blessings."

"I…I understand, but what does that have to do with the Man of Iron? Do you truly think we cannot defeat him?"

"Of course not. All things die if the Emperor wills it, but that does not mean our victory will come easy or without cost. The Machine is not invincible, but it is extremely dangerous and we will treat it like the threat it represents."

Moira thought for a moment. "He said the Machine could replace its numbers indefinitely. That means that the sooner we strike, the easier it will be."

"Very good." The canoness complemented. Of course, she'd want to hear more from her Palatine.

"Defending is always easier than attacking, so we'll have to goad the Man of Iron into attacking us somehow. Force it to retaliate and lure it into a kill-box. Once its forces are depleted, we strike and annihilate it."

"And how will we goad it?"

It took a few minutes, but eventually Moira found the answer. "The people! If it sees itself as a protector, exterminating a few defiant villages should be enough to catch its attention. We lose nothing since they're slated to be purged anyway. At least now, their deaths will serve some higher purpose."

"Excellent thinking. There is, however, one problem: the moment we start actively purging villages, acquiring new allies or retaining our existing ones will become much more difficult. You must understand that to the average imperial citizen, there is little difference between a purge by the Sororitas and an attack by a Chaos warband. Even though our end goal involves the purge or deportation of everyone in the system, we are still a long way from achieving that. You can't claim an entire system with only a thousand battle-sisters, so we'll need to find a way to ensure the temporary cooperation of the local citizenry, at least until the other major powers have been removed."

The palatine nodded and adjusted her plan. "Then we keep it a secret. Only target villages deep in our territory and classify everything. The Man of Iron will find out about it anyway if its espionage abilities are as good as they seem, but the locals won't know as we control the flow of information."

"And that is how a canoness is supposed to think." Lady Agna said. "Well done."

Pride welled up inside the palatine, followed by gratitude that the Emperor saw fit to grant her a tiny sliver of His wisdom. Yes, she could make it happen. It was dark work, but in His name it would be so.

The God-Emperor required that this system be purged. Moira Allen would not be found wanting.

Kaurava, Kaurava, Kaurava…

You're not the first person to ask me why I'm not so nice anymore. What can make a person so bitter and jaded? Surely what I did on Kronus was heroic and just?

Well, as much as the death of over a million people on the Scientia est Potentia can be called just.

But yes, it all boils down to Kaurava. At first, things seemed to go alright. I landed in the Lands of Solitude with no real incident. All of the factions in the system were still in the 'planning and preparation' stage of the war, so I had plenty of time to build up my forces and prepare. I didn't even need to bother with an economy much, as I a few tankers full of mass arriving within a week and a second batch a few days after that. My own take on an interstellar economy: couldn't beam the mass over directly, but I could load it up on mass storage, staple it to a Warp drive, and take it to where it was needed.

At any rate, it was the Sisters of Battle who were the first to draw my ire. In hindsight, not that surprising.

Actually, it was. I thought it'd be the Dark Eldar, but they showed remarkable restraint and common sense during the entire conflict. Well, apart from that one time, though that was as much the Tau's fault as it was their own.

But first, the Sisters of Battle…

--

Alexander's flight back to the Litany of Fury was remarkably subdued. All three of them simply sat in the Thunderhawk, being very still and quiet. Eventually, I decided to break the silence. "Alright, what happened? Everyone's being all gloomy and I have no idea why."

"Weren't you listening in?" The general asked.

"No, because you asked me not to. And before you act surprised: you're not Eldar. You people actually have something resembling a sense of honor. I'd like to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're not doing anything worse than sending Astropathic messages in the chapel." Even if he had abused my trust a little with that. I might not have any cameras in the chapel, but the climate control noticed a sharp and unexplained drop in temperature while they were all inside. Either the Imperials were getting into witchcraft, or he was sending messages to the Inquisition and hoping I wouldn't notice. "Next time, just use the astropathic choir. If Ozman gets himself possessed because of your cloak-and-dagger bullshit, I'm going to be very annoyed. I kind of like him, you know."

He raised his eyebrow, but didn't press the issue. "I see. To get to your earlier question, the Sisters of Battle…rejected your request for leniency for the people of Kaurava."

"Meaning they're going to start murdering the innocent unless you bring out the hugbots again." Kirnov muttered.

A sentiment Father Martel didn't agree with. "Sergeant, these are the Ecclesiarchy's finest soldiers! Their faith is undeniable."

"Their faith isn't the problem. Their lack of common sense and self-preservation instincts is. Also, their habit of getting good men killed."

"Not every Sister is like those on Neridia Prime, Kirnov. There is no need to escalate this."

Oh, story senses tingling. "Neridia Prime?"

Kirnov took that as permission to explain. "Agri-World. Nothing of value, really. Only reason why there were Sisters there was because some saint's bones got dug up a few years prior and the Ministorum wanted to turn it into a Shrine World. Anyway, first we hear of it is when the local governor started screaming about an evil cult and that the shrine was in danger. Most of the PDF had been subverted and the cult was trying to secede from the Imperium. Naturally, the Imperium takes this very seriously, as it damn well should, and calls in the big guns: full regiment of guardsmen, armor, artillery, even my Kasrkin squad. I was still a private back then.

"Anyway, we arrive and guess what? No evil cult. Plenty of rebels, though. Turns out: the Ecclesiarchy toady running the planet started going Goge Vandire on the place. The idiot decided that Neridia Prime was to be the greatest shrine world in the damn sector and essentially enslaved the entire planet to make it so. Needless to say, the people didn't like that and rebelled. When the governor tried to sic the PDF on them, most of the PDF joined the rebels. Soon, the entire planet turned against him and the fat shit would have gotten what was coming to him if it weren't for the Sisters of Battle. They remained loyal to the 'Emperor's Servant', regardless of what the 'heretics' had to say, and commanded us to do the same. When we asked them where the damn cult is, they said that only those tainted by heresy would be brazen enough to rebel on a Shrine world to the Emperor and the governor was happy to parrot that. That the rebels loudly proclaimed their loyalty to the Emperor was just proof that they were in league with the forces of evil. Groxshit, we said. Heresy, they said. Unfortunately, the planet was a recognized shrine world, so our CO had to defer to them on this and we were forced to fight a planet full of starving, impoverished, and desperate people who would have been perfectly willing to lay down their arms if the local government would just stop acting like frakking idiots.

"Anyway, about a year later and we'd broken most of the rebels. The last of them, including their leader, were holed up in this massive fortress in the mountains. Pretty much unassailable, even with the kind of firepower we were throwing around. We were trying to surround them and starve them out when their leader broadcasted a message to the entire planet, saying that the government had turned from the Emperor's light and had corrupted good Imperial servants to do its dirty work. He proclaimed himself and his movement as true loyalists and denounced the governor as a heretic. Pretty standard, all things considered, but the Sisters lost their shit on hearing that and charged the fortress, ordering us to follow. The colonel tried being reasonable, saying that they were only the words of a desperate man trapped in a corner, but the bolter bitches weren't having any of it. Apparently, self-preservation and common sense is heresy, or something. They ordered him to charge the fortress immediately or she'd have our entire regiment purged as heretics." Kirnov stopped, sighing.

"Can't imagine that ended well…" I suggested. The worst part of the story was that I could actually see it happening.

"We won, alright. Lost two-thirds of our regiment doing it, but we won. Killed the bastard leading them, stopped the rebels, and executed most of them. Of course, that's when the real bitching began. The war pretty much tore the planet apart, so the Ministorum blamed the Imperial Guard for it and made the Adeptus Terra cough up reparations. Colonel got executed for 'incompetence', seeing as he lost two-thirds of his regiment clearing out rebels armed with sticks and stubbers, but probably for politics as well. And the Sisters? They all survived, of course. Power armor's pretty much indestructible when you're fighting people armed with nothing better than fancy rocks. Ended up getting a cathedral named after their leader and no one remembers that they were the ones who let the whole thing spiral out of control to begin with. Frakking bolter bitches."

"And the governor?"

Suddenly, Kirnov's face hardened. "Killed by Ork snipers." Translation: we ganked him and you can't prove shit.

Alexander, for his part, sighed. "What happened on Neridia was a massive failure on the Sisters' part, but that doesn't mean that these are going to be as bad. The fact that they were at least willing to entertain talking to us means that they're more reasonable than most."

"Respectfully, sir, that's not going to stop them from ganking anyone that looks at them funny. You saw how they looked at you. They were stringing you along, milking you for intel. They weren't even considering cooperation."

In most cases, that would worry me. However, General Alexander had very little useable intel on me, having been cooped up on the Litany of Fury and far away from my combat units. I hadn't told him anything useful and I doubt he could figure out the numbers and types of killbots I have just from what he's seen. He's good, but he's no Creed.

"Be that as it may, this isn't an enemy that can simply be overrun with a tide of metal. Engaging the Sisters will provoke the Ministorum. Possibly even more. Nobody wants an all-out war between you and the Imperium."

"And does the Ministorum share that belief, General?" I asked.

"Probably not, but that is not important. They'll move on if you don't make a nuisance out of yourself."

"And I'll move on if they don't make a nuisance of themselves. The knife cuts both ways."

"In a perfect world, yes. Here…you're reasonable, commander. Most of the time. The Ministorum is not. I can argue with you. With the Ecclesiarchy? I'd have a better shot convincing the stars to stop shining than I have convincing the Sororitas to creatively misinterpret their orders."

I sighed. Truer words have never been spoken. "Fine, I'll play along…for now. I'll just have to wait and see what the Sisters are up to."

--

I found out soon enough.

Oh, the Sisters weren't even the problem. They were surprisingly professional and generally treated the people they conquered with a great deal of respect…provided the people weren't mutants or aliens and joined one of the Sister's satellite cults without delay.

And those cults weren't exactly pleasant places to be in.

The Sororitas strike force was about a thousand strong. Enough to break most armies thanks to the advanced equipment they were using, but not enough to also police the territory they'd conquered. To compensate for their lack of numbers, priests attached to their army started preaching in captured towns, proclaiming that the Warp Storm, the war, and all the suffering that came with it were the result of years of faithlessness and unbelief. The whole mess was the Emperor's punishment and the only way they could save their souls was through hardship and service in His name. To that end, they should all join a Ministorum-backed militia or risk forfeiting their very souls.

Their words, not mine. Crazy bastards.

Problem is: Imperials are taught from birth that their lives will be one unending string of hardship and service. The average Imperial is a tough bastard and completely desensitized to both. As such, when a priest comes along and tells the hardcore faithboners that they weren't being hardcore enough, interesting things happen.

The militia they created was less of a 'semi-professional military' and more a 'rampant, self-flagellating mob of insane murderhobos'.

Seeing them in action was…not fun.

--

It all seemed so straightforward. Fly over Sister's territory, track troop movements, and find a good place to insert myself in case they get too uppity.

Instead, I found the mobs.

I was tracking one not far from one of my teleporter bases. One of the larger ones that was around three-thousand strong. They were heading towards a small village of twelve hundred in the wastelands, chanting and whipping themselves as they went. I thought little off them at first, until I realized their intentions.

The moments they reached the outskirts of the small village not on any of the maps, the leader of the nutjobs started speaking. I couldn't tell what he was saying, but the crowd's reaction was clear. They literally whipped themselves into a frenzy and charged, brutally murdering everyone they could get their hands on with clubs and knives. I looked on, dumbfounded.

No. I wasn't going to sit by and let this happen. I had some troops in the area…no, not enough to take the horde on directly. Just a few seekers an hour's flight away. A few mecs and assorted bots a couple minutes behind them. It'd have to do.

Using their stealth systems and flying as fast as they could, the seekers infiltrated the village, looking for any survivors. They…wasn't much left by the time they arrived. The mob worked fast. They hacked off limbs of people as a 'punishment' for crimes both real and imagined and left them to die in the streets. They tied a man wearing a massive golden chain around his neck to a flag-pole and stoned him to death. The local mayor, I think. They set houses on fire and sang praises to the Emperor as they clubbed the screaming villagers and ohforfuck'ssakeWHYCAN'TTHESEDAMNTHINGSGOANYFASTER?!

I was too late. Too late to save any of them. Too…wait, a survivor, in one of the nicer houses on the far end of the village. Someone made it! My seekers flew towards it and found a broken door. My heart sank. They searched the building until they came across the living room…and a slaughter. A woman, lying on the floor bloodied and broken with a boy of around ten hanging over her, desperately trying to tend to her wounds. Eight bodies, all killed by headshots. A bloodied stubber, lying abandoned.

That was one badass lady.

The boy kept muttering to himself. "Have to stem the bleeding. Check for internal hemorrhaging. Restart the heart. Restart the heart, and work from there. Throne, why is there so much bleeding?" He was covered in blood and it didn't look like any of it was his. His shirt had been cannibalized as a make-shift bandage. Scattered around him were medical supplied, tape, and a dozen other things that he'd used to try and keep the woman alive. A woman that I could only assume was his mother.

I didn't have the heart to tell him the woman was already dead.

Seeing the boy, seeing all this pointless slaughter…something inside me snapped. I had the scout make a few fly-overs, taking pictures of the mob and every single man and woman marching alongside it. I made a list of every single one of the murderous psychopaths. Then I unleashed the bots on them.

The seekers fanned out, eliminating the monsters one-by-one from the cover of stealth. There weren't enough of them to take them all out. No matter, I had other troops. Before the mob even realized they were being hunted, several transports full of bots landed in the town square, right in front of the main bulk of the mob.

The head nutjob stepped forth to meet them, waving his sledgehammer like some sort of scepter. "Look, ye faithful! The heretics send their foul machines to stop us. Do they not know they are too late? The faithful of the Emperor have already triumphed over those who shun His light!" The crowd roared in approval. The monster wearing human skin looked as unhinged as he acted. His poorly-shaven head, the crazed look in his eyes, his exaggerated motions… there was nothing human left in this thing. "Have you nothing to say for yourself? No final words? Then let the Emperor's justice rain down upon you as it did for these heretics. Come brothers and sisters! Slay the machines and no know no fear, for the Emperor protects!"

The lunatic charged, but before he could swing his hammer, a mec stepped forward and grabbed him by the head, lifting him into the air. Then, as the bot was slowly crushing his screaming head under its fingers, I activated every speaker I had or could hack into and spoke three words.

"NOT FROM ME!"

The killing began in earnest. A few booms skittered into the masses and exploded, sending gore and shrapnel flying everywhere. In an instant, the mood was turned on its head. Whatever zealous bravado the mob once had, it vanished the moment they ran into something that could actually fight back. Everywhere, people started screaming, running, pushing. A directionless stampede. A brave few charged the bots or tried to shoot with their pathetic little stubbers but were cut down by laser fire before they could anything meaningful. Then the grenadiers opened fire and the rout was complete.

Cowards. Theyd happily murder and pillage in the Emperors name, but fighting and dying? Even the most craven Guardsmen were better than this.

Meanwhile, I'd sent a bot back to the house where the boy was still working tirelessly, futilely trying to save his mother. I was about to ask him to stop when he grabbed a make-shift defibrillator and used it on the woman. There were sparks and the lights shorted out. Suddenly, the woman lurched forward and gasped, sucking in a single breath.

"Mom!" The boy screamed, looking hopefully.

It didn't last. The woman was barely able to lift her arm before her eyes rolled back into her skull and she crashed again.

"No. No no no no no. More bleeding. Have to find the bleeding. Have to make it stop. Have to…"

"Kid…" I said, without thinking. The boy turned around almost instantly, glaring at the bot that dared to interrupt him. His eyes darted between the bot and the stubber on the ground. I realized that the bot was still carrying its lascannon, so I put it on the ground and held out its hand. "I'm sorry."

Slowly, the boy began to realize that his mother couldn't be saved. He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He just stared in the distance like all the life had been sucked out of him. "My father. Did you find him? He's the administrator, and he always wears this giant golden chain…"

Ah. The man they stoned to death. The boy must have sensed my hesitation as he seemed to die just a little more. That, or he already knew the answer. What was I supposed to say? What do you say to someone who's just watched their entire life fall apart in less than an afternoon? What do you say to someone who's seen too much?

"We have to go."

The boy didn't resist as I led him to a Thunderhawk.

--

Yes, that boy. Well, man now, but you get the point.

Christ, the headaches he ended up causing…

At least I can take some solace in knowing that I thoroughly avenged his parents, seeing as I'd spent the next few hours after I'd met him eradicating every last member of that damned mob. Problem was, it didn't really solve anything. They were pretty much everywhere; bands of crazies leading people too afraid to wonder if Big-E was okay with the whole burn-rape-pillage thing.

And the Sisters were fucking fine with it.

They actively encouraged it, seeing it as an excellent way to purge the system of unbelievers. Fuck them. Fuck them all. Even today…after everything…

I've forgiven a lot of people. Put up with a lot of shit. Circumstances have made that necessary. But Selena? I'll never be able to see her as something other than a murderer no matter how badly others might try to convince me.

Or how sincere her eventual apology was.

--

"Commander, for all our sakes, be reasonable. Slaughtering the Sisters of Battle will not help. Not you, not us, and certainly not them."

If I was being entirely logical, I would have agreed with General Alexander's pleading. Unfortunately, logic was being smothered by the burning, scorching, blistering, apocalyptic fury I was feeling right now. The slowly-increasing dents my fingers were making in my throne demonstrated as much.

Of course, the annoying little voice in my head that reminded me that this sort of thing is standard operating procedure in the Imperium wasn't helping either.

"To the contrary, General." Lord Sekhareth replied. The Necron had been unusually animated during this discussion. Then again, it was a political discussion, which would have been right up his alley. "This is a direct challenge by the Ecclesiarchy. They are trying to assert dominance over you by showing that they can do as they please, regardless of your wishes or demands. It is nothing more than what your Kirnov would call a 'pissing contest'. You must show them that you have boundaries or they will continue to press you, if only to find out where they are. Killing these Sororitas will send a clear message to their superiors: cooperation is life, opposition is death."

"Or it will start a war between the Man of Iron and the Ecclesiarchy. A war that will inevitably draw in the rest of the Imperium. Once you're done destroying our fleets, who's going to protect the trillions of innocents in the galaxy?" I was this close to punching the general in the face. The only thing keeping me from doing so was the fact that Alexander was as sickened by the destruction of that village as I was. And that he was right.

"I doubt the Ecclesiarchy will not let that happen." Sekhareth reassured. "An organization does not survive for thousands of years without knowing how to pick its battles. The moment they realize that the Commander is powerful enough to challenge the Imperium as a whole, they will submit. Not overtly, of course. Diplomatic overtures, nothing more. Enough to force them to concede to your wishes."

Alexander wasn't convinced. "If they'd been a guardsmen unit, that might have worked. If they'd been anything other than a Sororitas unit, that might have worked. But they aren't. The Ecclesiarchy rules by divine mandate. The moment they give anyone an inch, no matter how small, that mandate disappears, along with the Ecclesiarchy's legitimacy. They will go to war with us if we destroy the Sisters of Battle. They can't afford not to. They'll lose everything if they don't." He then turned to Taldeer, of all people, practically begging her to speak on his behalf.

Until now, the Farseer had spent most of her attention on me, pretending to not look very worried. She didn't seem all that disturbed by the images I'd shown everyone. I couldn't tell if that was because she didn't care about human suffering, or because she'd seen much worse in her long life. No, most of her concern seemed to be reserved for yours truly. "General Alexander is right, Commander." She stated, softly and calmly. "If you destroy the Sisters, regardless of the reason, the Ecclesiarchy will escalate. Either you will be forced to withdraw and the Ministorum will kill the innocents you are trying to protect out of spite, or you will be forced to escalate in turn until the Imperium is reduced to ash. The former will make any act of charity now pointless in the long run, the latter…" Taldeer lowered her head, like shaking off a bad memory.

I forced myself to calm down. It wasn't easy, but it was working. "The destruction of the Imperium is one of the 'bad ends' you're trying to avoid, isn't it?"

"Yes." She admitted. "For many, many reasons. However, Lord Sekhareth is not wrong either. At Kronus, you were a mystery, but now you are a player in the game of galactic politics. The Ecclesiarchy, and possibly the Inquisition as well, is trying to elucidate what kind of player you are. A show of strength is required or the Imperium will convince itself that you are weak enough to be bullied around. A message must be sent, but not one of violence, lest the resulting cycle of escalation brings the galaxy to its knees. Allow me to suggest a less…destructive approach."

Lord Sekhareth looked on with interest, while General Alexander just looked relieved. "Okay," I said "I'm listening."

Taldeer nodded. "Then I would suggest that you showed them the same mercy and leniency that you showed the Blood Ravens."

My head perked up. Alexander groaned, and Sekhareth tilted his head curiously. Oh, I could work with that.

--

Have I ever mentioned that Farseers are scary?

Well, I guess that that could be said of me as well.

--

'Twas the night before doomsday, and all throughout the Sama District, not a creature was stirring, except for the hundred-or-so Battle Sisters on watch duty like any competent military.

Okay, maybe this metaphor kind off fell apart at the first hurdle. Anyway, the Sisters…

I'd thought long and hard about a suitable punishment. Alexander and Taldeer had been right about the risks of escalation (and if those two agreed on anything, it had to be either the best idea in the universe or the worst), so simply killing wasn't an option. Instead, I was going to break them. I was going to subject them to every horror my twisted, mechanical mind could conceive and I wasn't going to stop until the God-Emperor Himself came down from His throne and handed me a Vlad Tepes Award. Most of the things I had in mind needed some preparation time, but there were a few things I could do now.

In every Sororitas base hung speakers. Most of the time, these speakers played uplifting hymns or sermons for the Sisters on duty. Right now, they were silent considering that it was the dead of night and most of the Sisters were asleep. Not for long, though.

It started with soft piano music. Just a few notes to make the Sisters on duty to notice and cause the lighter sleepers to wake up. Some of them looked at each other, wondering what was going on and who would be playing music at this hour.

Suddenly, earsplosion.

Maybe red's like roses?

Maybe it's the pool of blood

The innocents will lay in

When in the end you've failed to save them?

In less than a second, every Sister of Battle was awake, falling out of their beds and scrambling for their weapons. It's rather funny, really. Especially when they started to realize that it was just music and the base wasn't under attack.

Their dying eyes

Are wide and white like snow

And now they know

The cost of trusting you's obliteration

I should also mention that Jeff Williams is a god and RWBY has the best villain songs. Not to mention that the lyrics fit the situation beautifully. I doubt he'd like the idea of me using his music as a torture device, though…

Mirrors will shatter

Crushed by the weight of the world

The pillars collapse in shame

Frantically, the techpriests tried to retake control of the intercom, but I was able to rebuff their efforts. They weren't bad, but compared to someone like, say, Techmarine Martellus of the Blood Ravens, these bozos weren't nearly good enough to stop me. I let them flail around for a while, before giving them an impromptu education in Vespid mating rituals.

There'll be no rest

There'll be no love

There'll be no hero in the end

Who will rise above

By now, the canoness had awoken, pulled on some clothing, and marched her way to the command center. The woman had deep bags under her eyes and looked like she was about to kill something. Probably me.

Heh. She's welcome to try.

And when it ends

The good will crawl

The shining light will sink in darkness

Victory for hate incarnate

Misery and pain for all

When it falls

Oh, Sisters. I might not be able to kill the bolter bitches, but at least I can rob them of a good night sleep. Or any sleep, for that matter. They better get used to it, because a little sleep deprivation isn't even close to the worst thing I had in store for them.

Soon, the infiltration bots would descend on the Sama District and the fun could begin in earnest.

In the meantime, RWBY has plenty of songs on its soundtrack. I had a wealth of material to work with.

Swallowed by the darkness…

--

You're impressed?

Really?

I'd call it 'damning with fine praise', but I'm getting the impression you're actually sincere about this.

Not sure what to think about that.

In hindsight…I wasn't entirely sure what I was thinking, bringing the boy along. I mean, I'm a warmachine. War was inevitable. It's in the name. I would, sooner rather than later, be forced into a fight and the kid along with me. The Litany of Fury wasn't a safe place to raise a child, assuming I was even ready for something like that.

On the other hand, the alternative would have been to leave the boy behind, or maybe with a foster family somewhere in the system. If I'd done that…well, he'd probably be dead by now. Not a lot of people made it out of Kaurava in the end.

Of course, that being said, actually raising a traumatized child who just lost everyone he's even known is easier said than done.

--

The boy was silent.

During the flight back to the ship, he didn't say a single word. He didn't cry, he didn't scream, he just sat there, staring at the wall. Shock? Maybe? I couldn't tell. I was a biotechnician, not a shrink. Half the reason I work with microbes is because I barely know how to deal with people. Microbes are much simpler. Nutrients go in, growth comes out. Pure, elegant, mathematical.

People, not so much.

As we landed, I stood up. The boy didn't. Instead, he looked at me and asked: "The people who hurt…who hurt everyone…"

"They'll never hurt anyone ever again." I replied. Fuck those cultist bastards. Getting shredded by laser fire was far too good for them.

The boy lowered his head. "But that's not going to bring any of them back, is it?"

I thought about the cultists. By now, every single one of them had been hunted down and killed. The Sisters? Still 'enjoying' the music. It was getting close to morning in the Sama district, and the cooking servitors were already at work making breakfast. This wouldn't be your regular breakfast, however. At night, I had been modifying the servitors, altering their skin so that they'd secrete an enzyme cocktail that would inevitably find its way into whatever dish they were preparing when the constructs touched it. These enzymes were specifically designed to be nigh-undetectable and only activate under low pH conditions, like inside the human stomach. When active, they'd convert essential amino acids into harmless compounds such as urea and carbon dioxide.

Why, do you ask? Because the human body needs these essential amino acids but can't naturally produce them. The Sisters' bodies would start to cannibalize their own tissues just to survive. Starvation through malnutrition. Not immediately fatal, but try living a soldier's life and keep faith in your precious Emperor when your muscles are slowly wasting away. The best part? It wouldn't show up on any tests. The protein content of the meals wouldn't change until after the Sisters had eaten them and the enzymes themselves were, for all intents and purposes, indistinguishable from natural protein, even if you knew exactly what to look for. Knowing the Sisters, they'd never be able to prove that this wasn't the Emperor's punishment.

A perfect plan…except it wouldn't help the boy at all.

My heart bled for him. He was so young. Too young to have to understand death and what it entails. "No, it won't. I'm sorry."

He didn't answer. He simply followed me, his face blank. He didn't even look at all the ships and planes in the Litany of Fury's hangar. I was hoping to distract him with all the shiny military hardware, but I guess that wasn't going to happen. Guess I'd better take him to his room then.

As we stepped off the train leading to the living quarters, I found Commissar Gebbit waiting for us, much to my surprise. His face was blank and he didn't say a word. Instead, he took off his greatcoat, put it over the boy's shoulders, and gently marched him to the kitchen. He sat the boy down and made him a sandwich. Almost mechanically, the boy accepted the snack and slowly ate it while the commissar simply sat. They didn't speak. They barely interacted. And yet…

"Thank you, sir." The boy said when he was done. Well, at least the boy was feeding himself. It was a start.

After he finished his sandwich, I guided them to the extra bedroom I'd hastily constructed. It was small and relatively sparse, but I think it'd be enough for now. Judging from what I saw of his old home, I figured that the boy wasn't used to living in luxury. Part of me wanted to recreate the children's bedroom I found there, but I decided against it. I didn't want the kid to be reminded of what he had lost. I'd ask later, once he had recovered a little.

If he'd recover…

Once we arrived, the boy returned the greatcoat and peeled off his ruined clothes. He stepped in the shower and started cleaning himself. Should I help him? Nah, he was doing fine. I didn't think imposing would be a good idea right now.

"Thank you." I told Gebbit. "For stepping in."

The commissar smiled softly and put his coat back on. "Sometimes, doing the Emperor's work means charging into battle against His enemies. Sometimes it means putting a coat around a little boy's shoulders…reminding him that the Emperor hasn't abandoned him in spite of everything."

His kindness surprised me, until I realized that he graduated from the Schola Progenium. The Imperium's orphanage/academy. He must have lost his parents too.

"The boy will need a great deal of looking after in the coming weeks." Gebbit said. "I will help if I can but…he needs structure and I don't know how much I can provide."

"You want to create a one-student Schola Progenium, don't you?"

He smirked. "Of course not. The Schola is defined by rigidity and indoctrination in faith, politics, and service. I cannot recreate it here, even if you'd let me. Call it a premonition, but I doubt you'd like their methods."

"I suppose I wouldn't…" I didn't know much about the Schola Progenium, other than the basics, but considering what I've seen of the Imperium so far, it was probably horrific. "Does any of it involve shooting? Because I'm going to veto that."

The man's face hardened. "I will teach him discipline and purpose, Commander. Harming him is not my intention. I'm a commissar, not a crazed gunman. My job is to inspire my fellow soldier, one way or another. If I must execute a coward, then, in a way, I have already failed to prevent the cowardice from happening in the first place."

"But you'll shoot the coward anyway."

"Yes. Battles are won and lost by the morale of your army. Cowardice cannot be tolerated. If one man runs, his squad may soon follow, and with them, the army. If one must die by my hand to push the rest of them to victory, so be it." He replied, bluntly. "Do not think that those executions were decisions I made lightly. In my fourth-seven years as a commissar, I have executed sixty-three men. I recite their names in my morning prayers. Make of that what you will." With that, the commissar nodded and left for the chapel.

While I was waiting for the boy to finish, I decided to take a step back and figure out what the hell I was doing. I was way too young to be a parent, let alone deal with a traumatized kid. I needed to feed him, clothe him, educate him, offer him companionship… how on earth was I supposed to manage all that? I could put it all on Gebbit's shoulders, but that wasn't fair to the Commissar…or in the kid's best interest. No, I brought him here, so he was my responsibility. I would have to take care of him, one way or the other.

Food, I could manage. We still had more than enough frozen meals on the Litany of Fury. One extra mouth to feed wasn't that big of a deal. Which reminded me, I should probably try to set up a hydroponics garden of some kind. Fresh food would probably be appreciated by the organics on board.

Clothing was easy too. I couldn't quite replicate the look and feel of natural fiber, but what I ended up with was close enough. I stocked the closet and left a pile of generic-looking clothes on his bed, while getting rid of his old rags.

Education…that was a challenge. I could probably steal some school-books, but I'd have to thoroughly sanitize them first to get rid of all the propaganda. Or maybe I shouldn't, because my worldview is technically heresy and he'd probably get himself shot for even thinking like I do. Unlike me, the boy didn't have an army of killbots to tell the galaxy's vicious cunt population to go fuck itself.

Companionship…eh. Considering the kind of people on my ship, he wouldn't have anyone his own age to interact with. Unless I wanted to start an orphanage, he'd have to settle for adults of varying degrees of sanity. And aliens. Oh, god, the aliens. Anyway, the boy needed something like a friend, or someone who was more or less an equal. An idea formed into my mind. Standard seeker chassis, but with the metal armor replaced with a layer of flexible, synthetic rubber. Increased sensitivity, especially in the tentacles so that it could give hugs without accidentally hurting anyone. Add devices that could make noises like purring or growling along with some large, blinky optics. Paint it red with yellow stripes. Finally, create an independent, semi-sentient AI that essentially acted like a puppy, fixated on the boy.

There, friend created. As the little robot activated for the first time, it flopped around the floor like a fish out of water. Drat, forgot to adjust the flight system to compensate for the change in mass. A few patches later and the seeker flew properly, examining the factory that built it with the kind of rampant curiosity that you'd expect from a newborn puppy.

I smiled. Yep, it was perfect. "Welcome to the world, Squiddy."

The seeker perked up and floated to the speaking bot. It poked me with a tentacle and tilted its head.

"Yep, that's me."

Squiddy squeaked. It sounded a little like R2D2. I supposed that that's an appropriate level of cuteness.

"Would you like to make a friend, Squiddy?"

Enthusiastically, the seeker bobbed its head up and down. While it couldn't speak, it had enough intelligence to understand Low Gothic. Most of the time. It still had the IQ of a particularly dim golden retriever.

Which was fine by me. Creating life was one thing. Creating sapient life was another altogether.

I guided the seeker back to the boy's room and waited for him to finish showering. When he was done, I knocked on the door and walked in. The moment I stepped through, the boy's eyes shot towards me. A moment passed, and his head lowered in disappointment. He…he probably wanted to see someone else. Not something I could hold against him, really. Even if it did sting a little.

"Hi." I said.

"Hello, sir." He replied. A man of few words, it seemed.

"I'm Commander Black. You'll…be staying with us for a while."

He nodded. Did he understand what had happened? Could he? "Thomas. Thomas Servarion. Are you with the Imperial Guard?"

"Not really, it's…complicated. I'll try to explain in the morning, after you've gotten some sleep, okay?" I patted him on the shoulder. "For now, I've got someone who'd like to meet you. Squiddy, come in."

Dutifully, the seeker floated inside. It chirped at Thomas inquisitively and approached. To the boy's credit, he didn't move. Instead, he just looked on in mild surprise. "I appreciate the gesture, sir, but I don't need help." He said, sounding years older than he actually was. "'To suffer and labor in the Emperor's name is the duty and honor of every man, woman, and child. Ask not for recompense or reward, for it is better to die for the Emperor than to live for yourself.'" Translation: I've been indoctrinated to belief that masochism and self-denial is a virtue and that having nice things is a sin. Please be a dick to me.

Well fuck that. And fuck the Imperium. This kid deserved better than that. Every kid deserves better than that.

Of course, the boy wouldn't understand. Not yet. "It's not for you. Squiddy gets real lonely when he doesn't have a friend. Do it for him."

The seeker inched a little closer. It's amazing how an otherwise invisible death-machine can look so innocent. Then again, they were an evolution of the old hug-bot. Which reminded me: I didn't remove the plasma cannon. I should probably have done that. Oh, well, it's not like it's going to get used, right?

Eh, better have it and not need it.

Then the boy reached out and started scratching Squiddy. The seeker purred like a kitten in response.

Huh. Maybe I'm not so bad at this parenting thing…

"Commander Black, sir… I am hungry." The boy said, almost apologetically. "May I have something to eat before going to bed?"

"Of course, kid." I replied, holding out my hand. The boy took it and followed me to the kitchen, Squiddy shadowing us every step of the way. Food wasn't really an issue. The rest of the crew had just finished dinner and there were more than enough left-overs to cook something up. The kitchen itself was mostly empty, with only Gebbit, Alexander, Mohannis, and Curon present. They looked at the boy in pity, which caused Thomas to shrink into himself even further. Then Squiddy put a tentacle around his shoulder which was enough to convince him to move on and take a seat. I had a small plate of food was put in front of him and watched in fascination as it was quickly devoured. A big eater, it seemed.

As the boy was finishing up, Taldeer entered. She looked at the boy and shot him an inquisitive glare. Thomas noticed and glared right back. The two stood locked, eye-to-eye, before Taldeer ended the staring contest with a soft smile. A 'you have a dirty secret and I just figured it out' smile. That…was worrying. The boy's horrified expression even more so. Should I interfere? Maybe later, once the boy went to sleep.

"Commander," The Farseer said, while grabbing some coffee "I am in need of transportation to Essel Ir-Talith. It is high time that I confer with my colleague in person."

"That's the Eldar base on Kaurava III, yes?"

The boy perked up and looked at us inquisitively, but he didn't say anything.

"Correct. Farseer Caerys is getting quite impatient. I am hoping to placate her and perhaps convince her to share some knowledge on our true foe. If you are done playing with the mobs, of course."

The boy turned red with rage. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to stay silent.

"I'll get an escort, unless you want to take your seers along with you?"

The Farseer shook her head. "No. It is best if I go alone. No guards, no assistance…and no spies." She glared at me, knowingly.

"Spies? Me?" I said, mockingly. "What do you think I am, a Farseer?"

She sneered at me. Ah, Taldeer, you make it too easy. "I am serious, commander. This meeting must remain private. You will not set foot on Essel Ir-Talith. If you do not, my kin will detect your constructs and they will not react well when they do."

I sighed. "Fine, I will not set foot on Essel Ir-Tal-whateveryoucallit."

Satisfied, she nodded.

I had, after all, no intention of setting foot on in the Eldar's base. I didn't need to.

--

Farseer Caerys.

As if Taldeer wasn't bad enough on her own.

No, that's not fair to Taldeer. She actually got more tolerable as time went past. Caerys never got the opportunity.

The funny thing is that on the surface, they were very similar. Two ethereally beautiful alien witches of incredible power with a massive superiority complex. At the time, I don't think there really was a difference between the two. Okay, a slightly different face. And Caerys had blood red hair instead of Taldeer's raven black. And Caerys had a really annoying voice like everyone else in the damn system.

But looks are often deceiving.

For starters, Caerys didn't like me.

Granted, neither did Taldeer at the time, but she at least acknowledged my necessity. Caerys just wanted me dead and seemed really pissed at Taldeer for not murdering me when she had the chance. The bitch just kept blaming me when things went wrong, even when it wasn't my fault at all.

Also, Caerys didn't like Taldeer.

Now, I'm not expert on Farseers but I have learned that they, like everyone else, have various factions and schools of thought. Caerys was somewhat of a traditionalist, believing in using tried-and-tested methods like runes and divination to guide the Eldar people. Taldeer… they call her 'The Dreamer' for a reason. Her methods were considered unusual and because of that her visions were often called into question, especially by hardliners like Caerys.

The frigid relationship between the two was apparent the second Taldeer stepped of the Thunderhawk. Caerys was waiting, helmet in hand and the Glare of Universal Disapproval on her face. The two Farseers calmly marched towards each other until they stood face to face. Then they glared at each other for a few minutes, seemingly engaged in some sort of nonverbal Farseer pissing contest. Finally, they headed deeper in the base, well out of my reach.

All in all, I was rather happy it had been Taldeer who approached me. She was…a lot more tolerable than most others. And better looking too.

What? I just happen to prefer brunettes over redheads.

--

When Taldeer returned to my ship, she did so with the same rigid posture that she had going in. There were differences, however. Her face looked just a little more wooden than before and her eyes had a glint of something I couldn't place. All in all, I got the distinct impression that the meeting didn't go as well as Taldeer would have liked.

"So, how did it go?" I asked.

"Better than I'd feared." She replied coldly. "Not as well as I'd hoped."

"Care to share?"

"Not yet, I…I have much to ponder."

Okay then. Guess I'd just have to look at the camera footage then…

One of the first things I did when the Eldar entered my ship was find a way to sneak tracking devices on them. Wraithbone, being psychoreative, self-repairing, and partially alive, was a nightmare to work with. If I tried burrowing trackers into their armor, they'd notice. Fortunately, Eldar garb also included decorations, tabards, and jewelry made of conventional materials. Those could be infiltrated with ease.

Of course, that led to the next problem: detection. The Imperials didn't have the technology to detect or intercept the signals that my tech used to function, but I wasn't sure the Eldar didn't either. Even if they couldn't detect my technology, they might be able to sense the imprints my soul left behind. If it all worked that way. Nevertheless, I didn't want to risk detection and all the issues that followed it, so I decided to keep it simple. Several microscopic cameras had been placed in strategic areas. Individually, they were too simple to get a clear picture, but together they worked together much like the facetted eyes of an insect. Hypersensitive microphones had been woven into her tabard, letting me pick up everything spoken at Taldeer. All I needed to do was make a quick adjustment to their software. Instead of sending everything to me, they'd save the data internally until Taldeer got back. No transmissions means nothing to detect, right?

I didn't lie when I said I'd never set foot in the Eldar's base. I just neglected to remove the cameras and listening devices I'd hidden on her person.

The second Taldeer stepped on the Thunderhawk, I removed the data and began reviewing it. Immediately, I ran into a problem: Caerys and Taldeer were speaking in Eldar and my Eldar was…rather atrocious. Good thing I got Orkanis and Sekhareth, then.

I found the two in their usual hang-out, reminiscing about the War in Heaven. One would've thought that they'd run out of things to talk about by now, but I guess I was wrong. It must have been a really long war.

"Orkanis, Lord Sekhareth, can I borrow you for a moment?"

"Spying on the Eldar again, are we?" The Necron Lord replied. Not that he was wrong, but…huh. I really didn't ask much else of them, didn't I? I should really do something about that. Play chess, or something.

"Farseers." I said. "As in, two of them and I don't think they like each other. I'm sure you understand I can't let them run around unsupervised."

Orkanis went rather still. "Yes, that would be wise. When working together, Farseers can keep the worst of each other's excesses in check. When opposing each other, the opposite is often true."

I pulled up a video screen and played the footage, or at least the interesting part that didn't seem to make a lot of sense in context. The video had been subtitled using the best Eldar-to-Low Gothic translation software I'd managed to develop. Which was to say: not a very good one. Part of the reason why I still turned to Orkanis for help. The last thing I want was to start a fight because I misinterpreted something.

"Taldeer." Caerys began, coldly. They were standing inside a hollow chamber, populated by them and a handful of guards (exarchs, if I wasn't mistaken) on Caerys's side. A power play? If it is, it's a rather obvious one.

"Farseer Caerys. Thank/bless you for inviting/approaching/entertaining me." Taldeer sounded kinder, but the kindness felt forced and unnatural. She was keeping up appearances, nothing more.

"You may dispense/leave/ignore the pleasantries/courtesies/lies. We both know that we have greater concerns/fears than that."

"Indeed. Our ancient enemy marches/walks/assails. The Men of Iron will soon rise up/put on the warmask/march out to meet them, but he will need assistance/aid. I can only give/provide so much insight/knowledge/history."

Caerys said. Her voice sounded smug, but there was something about her expression that didn't gel with that. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was. "The ancient enemy will be dealt with/destroyed, but what good/help/use is destroying/defeating/conquering one foe/horror/evil, only to unleash another?"

I couldn't see Taldeer's face, but judging from the venom in her voice, I got the impression that she strongly disagreed. "You are blinded/foolish. The commander/Machine will not oppose/compete/fight us unless we give him cause/justification. Having him deal with/destroy the Necrons is in everyone's best interest/design."

"If only it were that simple/straightforward." Caerys twisted oddly and made gestures. Gestures that were wholly unnatural and therefore not accidental. Then it hit me: they weren't just using words here. There was a whole layer of conversation going on, purely with body language.

I stopped the footage and turned to the oldies. "So, is it just me or are we missing half the conversation here?"

"Your translation software appears to function quite well…" Sekhareth suggested.

"But it does not take body language into account, does it?" Orkanis followed. "I suspected as much. The true conversation seems to be far less…civil than your translation suggests. Do you, by any chance, have footage of Taldeer during all this? I would like to read her responses as well."

"No, sadly I don't. The cameras are hidden in Taldeer's clothing. I don't have another angle."

"I see. This will have to do then. Please, continue."

"The Seer Council wants you back/returned. Your presence here is too great a danger/risk/liability." Caerys said. A liability to whom, I wondered.

"My mission/goal is too important. We stand at a crossroads/focal point. One misstep/deviation now will lead to/ensure ruin. And…"

"You have been summoned/ordered/demanded, Taldeer." Caerys snapped. For a moment, she sounded deathly afraid. "This has gone on long enough. I will not see you become his priestess!"

Taldeer, for her part, appeared unmoved. "I will not go/follow, Caerys. I cannot. You must understand/agree/allow. If not, then my dream/vision will become reality."

"He will not save/protect us!"

"No, he will not.

"Have you lost your sense/mind/thought? Did the commander/Machine infiltrate/consume your mind with its damned/cursed/monstrous nanotechnology?"

"He did not."

"He could/might."

Taldeer sighed, visibly. "I will not harm/endanger the craftworld, Caerys. Now, can we please focus/muse on the true threat/enemy/monster before you create another?"

For a moment, Caerys looked at her warriors, then to the ground. Finally, she relented and started talking about troop movements and the like. Nothing too interesting for now. I'd have to compare it to whatever Taldeer would end up telling me, of course.

"So," I asked "what exactly has been discussed?"

"Caerys wants to destroy you." Orkanis said, plainly. "Apparently, she and most of Ulthwé's Seer Council is convinced that their craftworld will soon perish and that you will somehow be involved in the calamity. Something that appears to be part of a much larger, galaxy-wide catastrophe, though I am unsure as to what that is. They believe you are too unpredictable to control and too dangerous to be left to your own devices. Taldeer either does not believe that to be the case or believes the destruction of Ulthwé to be a lesser evil somehow. Caerys is questioning Taldeer's loyalty and thinks she has been compromised, possibly through your nanotechnology. She is seriously considering forcibly kidnapping Taldeer or killing her on the spot if she will not cooperate, but Taldeer talked her down, stating that engaging you in combat would unleash a horrifying conflict and probably cause the tragedy that they are all hoping to avoid. Caerys relented, for now but…I do not know what she will do in the future."

I stood silently for a while.

"Well…shit."

"Succinctly put, Commander." Orkanis deadpanned.

Lord Sekhareth raised his hand and asked: "That comment about nanotechnology…are you truly capable of doing that?"

"Mindcontrolling someone with brain nanites? Well, no, unless…" I started thinking and briefly went through my accumulated knowledge on Eldar and human brains. Turned out that I had a lot more possibilities than I'd realized. "Direct mind-control doesn't really work, not like this. I could sever the link between the brain and the spinal column and insert something that sends signals to the victim's nervous system, but considering how much trouble I'm having with programming the bots, trying to make an organic walk and talk convincingly would probably be impossible, or at least hugely impractical. However, mapping out a person's emotional centers isn't too difficult." Orkanis and Sekhareth looked at each other, as if having some kind of unspoken conversation. I mostly ignored them. This train of thought was far too interesting. "Once you do that, manipulation is easy. Victim does something I like? I push the happy button. Victim does something I don't like? I make them feel anxious or afraid. Keep this up for a few weeks, and operant conditioning should do the rest. Now that I think of it, this would be an excellent way to reprogram the Sisters of Battle. I mean, sure, it's not mind control and nowhere near foolproof, but if the victim does what you want them too out of their own kinda-sorta-not-really free will, then we're just arguing semantics and ohmyFUCKINGGOD!"

What the fuck was wrong with me?! Mind control? Reprogramming? Fucking brain-nanites? Jesus.

"I was wondering how long it would take for him to realize that…" Orkanis said.

"I suppose I should count myself fortunate that he only took my heart." Sekhareth added. "And to consider that he probably would not have thought of using the technology in this way if Farseer Caerys had never mentioned it."

"And that is why I loathe Farseers. For every problem they solve, they unwittingly create two others with their reckless manipulations." Orkanis sighed, shaking his head.

I nodded. "Fair enough. What's the chance of Ulthwé doing something stupid?"

"If by 'stupid', you mean 'launch an attack'…high enough to be worth considering. I am hoping that we can avoid that, but if their Seer Council legitimately sees you as a threat, they will do everything they can to end you."

"And they probably have the power to do it too." I said. Orkanis nodded in agreement. "Well, on the bright side, you'll probably get one hell of a homecoming. I mean, spending the rest of your life as an honored elder on the craftworld can't be all bad."

Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. "Oh, they will…after they have peeled my body apart and stripped my mind of anything of value. If I am fortunate, I might have some semblance of my consciousness left when they feed me to their Infinity Circuit and…" He stopped and looked down, almost shamefully.

I simply stood there, slack jawed. I couldn't believe that the Eldar would do that to one of their own. Considering how far they were willing to go to save even a handful…but then again, Orkanis had ancient knowledge that must be immeasurably valuable to a race that has lost so much. It put a lot of conversations the wraithseer had with the Eldar in a very different light. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I felt Taldeer's hunger the moment she sensed my presence." He admitted, apologetically. "I could tell how valuable I was to her…how useful I would be. No blood is too sacred to spend in the eyes of a Farseer. If I rejoined my kin, I would have been…" He shook his head. "I would rather not speak of it. Considering your creative spirit, I am quite certain that you can imagine a suitably horrific experience yourself."

"Gee, thanks."

"Be that as it may," Lord Sekhareth interceded "what exactly are we going to do about Craftworld Ulthwé? Or indeed, about Taldeer? I believe it is high time we…reevaluated her position."

Almost immediately, Orkanis's head shot towards the Necron Lord. "We will not harm her. As dangerous and troublesome as she is, she remains my kin. If anything, we should tell her about these talks of ours. Force her to play with an open hand lest she becomes collateral in Ulthwé's madness."

"Which would be an excellent idea if Taldeer cared for her own life. I have seen their kind sacrifice themselves as readily as they would sacrifice others. The threat of death or exile from her craftworld might not be enough to convince her to work with us. Our greatest advantage is that she does not know that we are working against her, or that the commander has the means to translate the Eldar language. This is not something we should give up lightly. Not when the stakes are this high." The Necron Lord seemed to shudder. I really wanted to think that was a trick of the eye, or that he was exaggerating. "You are not the only one who will suffer the tender mercies of Ulthwé's Seer Council, should the worst come to pass."

The two lowered their heads for a moment, before turning to me. Right, my turn to make a decision. "Sekhareth is right. I don't like the idea of showing my hand to Taldeer unless I know whose side she's on. Until then, we're better off playing dumb and milking her for information. We'll have another planning session tomorrow morning. Who knows, she might actually come clean herself." Fat chance, but who knows. Maybe the imminent threat of our deaths and her disgrace would bring the Farseer to her senses. And maybe I'll trip over a magic portal to the My Little Pony universe when I go out the door.

"I do not like this, commander." Orkanis said. "She is not our enemy."

"Probably not, but she's not our friend either. Not until I'm sure what the hell she's planning."

--

All this talk about politics and our own little gambit pileup in the Litany of Fury, it all feels so small now. I can't help but think…

Could I have prevented the catastrophe?

Could anyone?

Taldeer saw it, even if she couldn't see the specifics. Caerys must have seen it. The Seer Councils, the Inquisition, hell, even me…we knew what was going to happen. We knew how this mess was going to play out, even if none of us expected it to come crashing down so quickly. The writing was on the wall, but…

We just weren't reading it. We were so busy with our own petty troubles that we didn't see the battle for what it was.

Not until it was too late to stop it.

In all honesty, I'm not really cut out to be a general. A real general, that is. One with flesh-and-blood soldiers that are actually capable of disobeying him, or one that has to fight for something other than his own survival.

It's bitter work. Unsatisfying. People are…people. They want something, I want something, and then there's the universe out to kill us. It's all such a confusing mess, you get me?

No, of course you don't.

--

At six o'clock sharp, Thomas woke up. He looked around, groggily, then narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he pulled himself out of bed and looked around, as if he was expecting to be somewhere else. Then Squiddy pounced him, chirping happily.

"It's not a dream, is it?" He asked the bot, speaking in a tone that betrayed how he felt about the situation. That did nothing to deter the squid-bot's enthusiasm, however. With a soft smile, the boy scratched it behind the optics.

A knock on the door followed. Gebbit entered, dressed in his combat fatigues and his red commissar sash. Instantly, the boy stood up a little straighter. "You are awake." The commissar noted. "Good. Morning exercises start at 6:15 shipboard time. You will be expected." He turned around and marched out, winking at one of the cameras.

Yeah, probably for the best.

The guardsmen had kept up their usual routine and combat training, even though they shouldn't have to fight anyone if I could avoid it. Probably a soldier thing. I could sympathize: our whole situation was as bizarre to them as it was to me. Some sense of normalcy must have been nice.

Not that I'll ever have that again…

At 6:13 on the dial, the boy was dressed in his gym clothes (courtesy of me and a handy fabricator) and left, quickly finding the rest of the humans. Under Gebbit's leadership, they started: push-ups, sit-ups, various stretching exercises I couldn't name, and a run through the ship's corridors. At first, they were moving at a slightly gentler pace than usual, but Gebbit ramped it up and soon they were going through the guardsmen's usual, brutal regime.

I didn't know what shocked me more: that Gebbit thought exercise like this was somehow healthy for a ten-year-old boy, or that the boy was actually keeping up.

What the fuck? Was this kid on steroids or something?

I searched through the wreckage of his hometown and found his medical records. Or rather, an incomplete version of them. At least, it had to be; judging by Thomas's medical records, the boy had never been sick. A few children's diseases like chicken pox, measles, and a bunch of other local things, but nothing else. In each instance, he was only reported sick for a day or two. I called bullshit to that. I remember having measles and that lasted for weeks. Imperial medical technology is good, but not that good. Especially for a relatively lowborn family which wouldn't have access to anything beyond herbal medicine and aspirin.

It also said that he had no genetic abnormalities or markers, which was double bullshit because there's no way in hell that a ten-year-old boy could possibly keep up with trained fucking guardsmen unless there's something fishy going on. Probably something that involved a rogue Magos and syringes.

Hoping to find an answer, I looked deeper into his family history. Two parents, but no siblings. Apparently, the boy was adopted a little over four years ago. He was found walking in the wastes in the middle of winter, but showed no sign of hypothermia or other exposure related issues. His estimated age at the time was…two years old.

First thought: definitely someone's lab rat.

Second thought: the boy was six years old?!

Parents. His father was an Alfred Servarion: retired PDF major who went into politics and got a job as an administrator. Explained the boy's military-like mannerisms, if nothing else. Mother…Moira Servarion: licensed medica, made a living as the town's doctor. She could easily have faked the boy's medical records, if she wanted to. Considering the Imperium's stance on anyone that deviates from their arbitrary genetic baseline, I couldn't say I blamed her.

Both were important people to their hometown, but not important enough to have access to the kind of augmentation treatments that the boy must have undergone. Was he someone's experiment? If so, did he escape? Is the person who did this to him still alive? What kind of treatments had he undergone and what would the effects be going forward? Did I just bring a time-bomb aboard my ship?

Fuck.

I couldn't ask the boy. At a tender age of two, he would have been too young to remember anything. There is no record of any experimentation on the boy, but if something like that had ever existed, the parents would probably have made it disappear, if only to keep the authorities from taking him away.

Which also meant I had no idea what the hell was going on with him. I was starting to hate the Servarions' protectiveness of that kid. Sure, there's nothing wrong with keeping your only child safe from a government that was criminally insane at the best of times, but it was honestly making my job a hell of a lot harder than it needed to be.

Moving on: School records. Excellent scores across the board, so whatever our mystery scientist did to him, it probably affected him mentally as well. He got high marks in scouting (because of course that's a mandatory class in the fucking Imperium), especially high marks in history, and basically snoozed through basic mathematics. He also excelled in PE, though I was kind of expecting that, what with the whole 'keeping up with the finest human soldiers in the Imperium no I'm totally not an experiment gone horribly right' thing. His social development was somewhat lacking, however. Apparently, he had trouble socializing with his peers. In hindsight, that didn't really surprise me. Kids could be really cruel to people who are different, especially because they can't understand how much they're hurting someone yet. God knows, I've had plenty of experience with that when I was his age.

So, in short: I had just adopted/kidnapped a boy who was almost certainly someone's secret extra heretical science experiment. Thanks to a series of unfortunate events stemming from a rare case of kindness from both myself and Commissar Gebbit, the guardsmen found out around the same time I did so I wouldn't be able to sweep the fact that I nicked someone's Captain America under the rug, essentially insuring that the probability of this biting me in the ass has become 100%. Wonderful.

There was a god, and he hated me.

Oh, wait…I already knew that. Fucking Tzeentch.

I pushed thoughts of deicide out of my mind. It wasn't productive and I had bigger problems. If the Imperials thought I'd need to do something about him, they'd let me know. They haven't tried to kill the Eldar yet, so I could assume that the Pax Killbotia was enough of a deterrent.

Breakfast was kept simple: Departmento Munitorum gruel with toast for the humans (something that wouldn't be on my list of things to eat if I ever find a way to recreate taste buds) and some paste-like substance for the Eldar. The boy ate his share without complaint. He probably didn't mind. Or, more likely, he was too distracted by the Eldar sitting next to him. I wondered what was going through his mind as he kept staring at Mohannis's ears. Should I say something? I mean, it was kind of rude and Mohannis was looking extremely uncomfortable.

Larrissa, on the other hand, had no such issues. "He's so cute/adorable!" She squeaked, seemingly oblivious to the frowns directed her way. "Can I touch/hug him? I want to touch/hug him. Does he have fleas? I hope he doesn't have fleas."

The last question was directed at Taldeer, who sighed and said: "I will not use the limitless/perilous power of the Warp to determine if the human child needs a wash. Also, it is a human child, not a gyrinx cub. Please remember/consider where you are."

"But fleas are terrible/disgusting." Larrissa complained, the Farseer's chastisement doing nothing to curb her enthusiasm. "They like Eldar blood as much as that of humans and the shampoo used to treat an infestation is almost as bad/annoying as the fleas themselves. It turned my hair bright/clear pink the last time I needed it! Though that may have been caused by hair dye I was using at the time…" Her rambling was actually kind off endearing. "Besides, none of the humans speak/understand Eldar."

"They are simple, not stupid." Taldeer said. She looked tired and irritable. More than usual, that is. "Your intent/meaning is obvious/clear, even if the exact words are not."

Larrissa looked around and found Father Martel glaring at her menacingly. That shut her up quite nicely. Probably for the best. The entire conversation was getting rather awkward. As in, more awkward than breakfast between sworn enemies usually was. Because it was always teeth-clenchingly awkward. Even after being together for weeks, the awkwardness didn't go away. I couldn't help but sigh, really. I wasn't stupid enough to think that ten-thousand years of animosity, xenophobia, and general asshole-ism would go away with a few meals, but I was really hoping for more progress here.

Or maybe I shouldn't have dropped some random kid in their lap without asking. That probably didn't help either.

"Your ears are funny." The boy said, still looking at Mohannis. "Are you a spacer?"

Mohannis almost chocked on his breakfast. "I…what makes you think that?"

"Because you look weird and your clothes have gems in them. Also, your friends talk in a funny language and you're looking at the guardsmen like they just let out a really smelly fart. So, you're spacers, right?"

To be fair to the boy, he'd probably never seen an Eldar before. Or any alien, for that matter.

Though I did have to admit, his analysis was not exactly inaccurate.

Fortunately, Mohannis quickly regained his composure and smiled. "An…astute assessment, perhaps, but not an accurate one. We are Eldar, not spacers."

When the boy raised his brow, Father Martel quickly added: "They are xenos, young man, and all that entails. They come from distant worlds to manipulate us to their own ends."

"You are aware that I am sitting on the opposite side of this table, are you not?" The elderly warlock asked, almost incredulously.

"That does not mean I'm wrong." The priest replied, causing the warlock to shrug and continue his breakfast.

The boy was not content with that answer, however. "But my father said that spacers also come from distant worlds and manipulate us to their own ends."

"They are arrogant creatures who would gladly bomb cities on a whim."

I should probably worry that the Eldar might feel insulted. On the other hand, it seemed rather pointless considering that Father Martel was just telling things how they were. It'd be like calling a Chaos worshipper a heretic: true, but they just don't give a damn.

At least, I hoped that's how the Eldar saw it.

More likely, they simply didn't care about the opinions of a bunch of hyper-religious monkey-men. They might even find the whole thing amusing.

"Last year, a bunch of spacers bombed our farms because someone in the Sama District short-changed them by accident. We went hungry for the whole winter."

By now, the priest was visibly annoyed. Apparently, he wasn't used to being second-guessed on matters like these. "They are dangerous, boy!"

"The Eldar didn't murder my family." Thomas said. Instantly, the mood shifted. Even the Eldar winced in sympathy. I could see Father Martel trying to find his tongue, before wisely staying silent.

Well, talk about mood killers.

Breakfast continued in terse, awkward silence. Even more so than before. Once again, I found myself wondering why I was doing this. My own amusement? Some naïve thought that the Imperials and the Eldar could somehow reconcile? An attempt at socialization to convince myself that I wasn't completely and utterly alone in this universe?

I needed to stop asking myself so many questions. I'd only go crazy if I did.

Eventually, breakfast was over and the boy excused himself, ran to his room, and locked the door. Squiddie followed, curiously nudging him with its nose. Immediately, the boy turned around and grabbed the bot, hugging it tightly. He wasn't crying, but I could tell that he wanted to.

"Hey," I spoke over the intercom "it's going to be okay."

"I shouldn't have said that." The boy whispered. "I was wrong and I…"

"Stop." I commanded. "Father Martel will understand."

"He didn't deserve that."

"No, he didn't. But he'll understand. He knows what happened. They all do." I sighed and let the boy calm down for a few moments. "We all have times in our lives where we get so angry at God that we just want to burn down a church or ten. What you went through…it's worse than most. It's okay to lash out a little. Just be sure to apologize later."

The boy nodded, not letting go of Squiddie. Squiddie, for its part, didn't seem that bothered by the squeezing and purred softly. "It's all my fault."

Oh, no. Absolutely not. We're not going down that road. "Just stop…"

"I'm a mutant. 'Mutation is a corruption of the body and the spirit.' Bad things happen to them. That's why we have to banish them to the wastes and leave them to die. My parents didn't and now they're dead and I…"

"Squiddie, he's being an idiot. Slap him." I snapped. Rather than obeying, the damn thing growled at me. Fucking traitor. "And that's why I don't give my bots free will. Look, kid, let me tell you something about mutation. The human body has something called 'genetic material'. It's like a blueprint or an instruction manual for everything that happens in your body. When people make babies, that genetic material gets copied so the child can have his own. Unfortunately, that process isn't perfect. Little mistakes get made, which causes little differences that you didn't inherit from your parents. These differences are called mutations and everyone has them."

"Everyone?" The boy stared at me, mouth agape.

"Everyone. Every man, woman, and child. Good or bad, hero or traitor, Imperial or otherwise. Faith has nothing to do with it, nor does a lack of faith."

"B-but mutation is a sin! We're deviants and dangerous and…"

Jesus Christ, what have they been teaching this kid? Oh, wait, Imperium. "Mutation is a natural process that just happens. It's not your fault and it doesn't make you evil."

"But the priests…"

"…are priests. They don't know a thing about basic scientific principles like evolution and genetic drift. The Imperium loves compartmentalizing information so much that people have forgotten how the world works. It's the blind leading the blind trying to blame other blind for a stroke of bad luck. And let me tell you something else: all the bad things that are happening in the system now? They aren't your fault. None of them are. Mutation is just a natural process and the Imperium's stance on it is as idiotic as outlawing air because criminals need to breathe too. So no more talk about you being a mutant and how that's a bad thing, alright? Your parents died because they ran afoul with a bunch of murderous psychos, not because the child they adopted had a few wrong nucleotides. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir." He said, softly.

Well, progress. "I've been around for forty-thousand years. If history has taught me anything, it's that when something goes wrong, we want someone to blame and it's usually the minorities that take the brunt of the mess. It's stupid then, it's stupid now, and it's still going to be stupid by the time the eighty-first millennium rolls around. Won't stop people from doing it anyway because, as a very wise man once said, the only things infinity are hydrogen and stupidity."

He lowered his head, as if ashamed by the fact that I was being nice to him. "Why? Why me? Why are you being nice? I can't even pay you."

"Would you believe me if I said 'because I can'?" A shake of his head confirmed my suspicions. Part of me wondered how much time I'd have to spend before I could convince him of my good intentions. Then I realized that I didn't have to. If I gave him something to do, I could dampen any paranoia he might have about my help coming with strings attached. That, and he'd feel better about himself if I made him feel useful. "Figured. Well, there is something you can do for me. Do you know why I'm here?" The boy shook his head. "I'm here to fix the giant mess that is the Kaurava System and push the aliens and the crazy people out."

"I'm just a kid. I'm good with a stubber, but Father always said I'm too young to fight in a war."

"But you're not too young to think about it. In a few minutes, I'm going to have a meeting with the guardsmen and the Eldar. Hopefully, we'll be able to come up with some kind of plan to liberate the system. I want you to be there too."

"Why? I don't know anything."

"Which gives you a fresh perspective on the whole mess. You might see something we don't. That and…well, one of the Eldar, the grim, dark-haired lady? She's a Farseer, which means she uses witchcraft to see the future." The boy's eyes widened at the mention of witchcraft, but he didn't interrupt. "She also has a thing for playing mind-games and making stupidly overcomplicated plans that fall apart because they have far too many moving pieces. I don't want that to happen to us. So, when she comes up with a plan, I want you to dissect it. If a layman like you can find something wrong with it, we're going back to the drawing board. How does that sound?"

Thomas frowned. Then he started bombarding me with questions: who were we fighting? How much manpower did we have? What were our strengths and weaknesses? As I answered them to the best of my ability in the short amount of time we had available and explained him the basics of what was happening, I couldn't help but notice that while he had no idea what was going on in the greater galaxy, he knew how to ask the right questions. Mostly satisfied, I led him to the bridge where the others were waiting. As he took his seat at the foot of the table, the others looked on in surprise. Gebbit shot a glare at Alexander, who shrugged and wordlessly told him to go along with it. The rest of my kinda-sorta advisory council simply accepted matters and didn't comment. Except for Taldeer.

"You must be joking." She said to me, sounding supremely irritated. "An abducted five-year-old?"

"Dynamically adopted." I quickly insisted. "Plus, he's six. That's a completely different number."

Surprised, Gebbit asked the boy: "You're six?"

"And a half!" He replied. "I'm tall for my age."

The Farseer shot me her Glare of Universal Disapproval before sitting down with an irritated sigh.

I leaned forward and asked: "Let's deal with yesterday first: Caerys. Is she going to be a problem?"

Taldeer's frown deepened. She probably didn't like my choice of words. "Farseer Caerys and I have come to an…arrangement. The threat posed by the Necron horde is too grave to forgo cooperation. She is willing to offer intelligence as the situation demands."

"But no troops?"

"I'm sure you understand that we're reluctant to spend Eldar lives when expendable machines are available."

"And I'm going to need psychics to deal with those C'tan shards. I have little doubt that the enemy has at least one of those things at their disposal and it'd be great to have a strike team of seers on standby when we run into them."

Alexander cleared his throat. "I'd be more worried about what this Caerys is doing. There's something you're not telling us, Taldeer."

"Plenty," The Farseer admitted "but nothing that is relevant at this time."

"If that's the case, why didn't we have this conversation yesterday?" I remarked. "We've lost several hours to you pondering and doing your Farseer thing. My guess: you don't trust her either. Why?"

Taldeer frowned. "We have had philosophical disagreements in the past, but nothing that would cause her to willfully sabotage my mission."

"Unless she has a different mission that requires yours to be sabotaged." Orkanis noted. "For completion's sake, would you kindly explain what those philosophical differences are?"

For a moment, the two Eldar faced each other, glaring. "If you insist." Taldeer relented. "As you know, we Farseers use our powers to uncover the stands of Fate and see into the future. However, while our ultimate goals may be the same, the path we take to achieve it differs. Like all forms of witchcraft, divination is more an art than a science and there are many techniques and schools of thought amongst the craftworlds. When I became a seer, I pioneered a technique of my own: using my experience as a Dreamer to enter a trance-like state. It lets me experience the future with my own eyes, essentially seeing the path I am fated to walk as if I was actually there."

Well, I guess that's where 'Taldeer the Dreamer' comes from. "And Caerys?" I asked.

"She is…more conservative, preferring more tried-and-true methods like runecasting." She sighed. This must have been an old argument between the two. "Experimentation with warpcraft is always risky, even for the Eldar. Usually, in situations like this, we test the new technique by having other seers attempt it. Unfortunately, there are only a dozen people in the galaxy who can do what I do, and none are as adept at it as I am. This makes it near impossible to test my powers beyond all reasonable doubt. While my success rate is undeniable, convincing others has proven to be…more difficult."

Alexander frowned. "In the Imperium, philosophical debates usually end with one side being declared heretics and purged. Often for good reason."

Taldeer's eyes frowned when she realized what the general was implying. "We are not so barbaric. At worst, I would simply be disgraced and lose my reputation."

"Unless people think you've turned traitor." The general noted. "Or that you've gone insane, which wouldn't be too much of a stretch, considering the company you keep."

"Gee, thanks." I muttered.

"I suppose you guardsmen are rather maddening." She shot back. "But that doesn't change the fact that Farseer Caerys would never sacrifice the lives of three seers and a Farseer so frivolously."

"Unless she thinks it's worth it…" Alexander said. "You're here because you're afraid that the commander will turn on your people. You're trying to avoid that and kill some Necrons at the same time with diplomacy. What if Caerys decided to take a more direct approach and simply remove the Mechanid issue before it becomes too big to stop?"

Slowly, Thomas raised his hand. "Umm, a question?" We turned to the boy, causing him to shrink in on himself.

"Go ahead." I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

"Umm, this Caerys lady…would she win in a fight with you?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, she is a Farseer and she's got an army at her back. No idea how big the army is, too. I mean, theoretically she could do it, but I don't really see how."

"Blowing up the ship isn't enough?"

"Not really. I mean, it'd kill all of you guys and that's bad. Yes, even you Taldeer. I don't want to lose my magic eight ball, thank you very much."

"And the titan-sized construction machine?" Alexander asked. "What happens if you lose that?"

"That'd suck, because it's really useful, but I'm an AI. I'll just download my mind into another server farm. I have plenty of backups. Wouldn't have risked the damn thing otherwise. Of course, the big bot also has a rather volatile power core. If Caerys tries to kill it, she'd probably lose her entire army to the resulting hundred kiloton nuclear blast." I noticed the boy, looking at me in confusion. "Think of it this way: every robot you've seen is a part of me. The ship, the titan, the plane that picked you up yesterday…they're all pieces of yours truly. Destroying any of them is like cutting off a hair. If it weren't for the people living on it, even losing the Litany of Fury would be like cutting off a finger: it'd hurt, but I'll recover. The only way to kill me for good, that I know off, is to systematically destroy every single bot I've ever built. On every planet and every solar system I've claimed. All of them. I doubt the Eldar have the manpower for that."

"But does the Caerys lady know that?" The boy said. Suddenly, the room fell silent. That…that was a really good point. One none of us had considered. Including Taldeer. Which would be something that I'd be reminding her off until the day she died.

"Of course she does!" Taldeer snapped. "I may not agree with her on many things, but she is still a Farseer of Ulthwé. She must have realized that the Mechanid army cannot be decapitated so easily."

"Would she?" Orkanis wondered. "Your kind often forgets how fallible you are. How often have the Eldar faced the Men of Iron? How often have they tried to divine their actions? As you said, divination is an art rather than a science and the Mechanids interact with the Warp in a way I have never seen before, nor fully understand. You might have realized that the use of force is not feasible, but what makes you think Farseer Caerys has come to the same conclusion?"

For a moment, the Farseer's face twisted in horror. I could practically imagine what was going through her head right now: Caerys leading a warhost against my commander body. Hundreds of Eldar giving their lives to stop the evil war machine. Then, after hours of brutal combat, she finally defeats my commander body, only for it to explode and wipe out much of her strike force, along with the soulstones of the fallen. Then, as she's about to collapse from exhaustion, she realizes that the machines are still fighting and that all her sacrifices have been for naught.

While beating the smug off a Farseer's face was always satisfying, I'd prefer not having to kill countless Eldar warriors in the process and make a mortal enemy out of one of the most advanced species in the galaxy.

"Taldeer," I warned "when we call Caerys for her intel, please keep that madwoman from doing something we'll both regret. In fact, tell her that if she comes after me, I'll dress her up in a bikini and tie her to my throne once I'm done crushing her warhost."

"I would recommend throwing her in a dungeon. Preferably with traps and guarded by terrible monsters." Orkanis helpfully added. "Keeping her close will only let her manipulate you."

I wondered if he was joking. I wasn't sure which option I preferred.

"Or you could just send her back in shame so that you don't get murdered by the heroes that will inevitably try to rescue her." Thomas countered. "I mean, has imitating fairy tale villains ever worked…ever?"

"Well thought." Orkanis said. The boy smiled at the complement.

"Very happy I abducted him." I smiled.

"Abducted?"

"Dynamically adopted!"

Alexander cleared his throat. "While the Necrons, and potentially the Eldar, are certainly a concern, we can't discount the other powers in the system. Most notably: the Tau."

"They're still hiding behind their walls, General, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future." Taldeer said. "They will not interfere with our mission to stop the Necrons unless we force them to."

"There's more to this system than two armies of ancient robots, alien! We can't just assume that they'll be too busy fighting each other. Now, the Tau are building walls. Static defenses and gun emplacements. Not to mention that enormous cannon in the center of their base."

"Static anti-orbital or anti-ship emplacements are not exactly unexpected." I asked. I had my suspicions, most of whom revolved around the nonsensium gun, but I'd let the general say his piece. Maybe he spotted something I missed. "In fact, I'd even call it a good thing. Every second they spend working on their walls is a second they aren't trying to get in our way. Do you have a reason to suspect I'm wrong?"

I was wrong, of course. The Tau were building their Ar'Ka cannon, after all, and I'd have to do something about that before they turned it on me. However, I wanted Alexander to explain his reasoning, mostly to make him believe that I was actually listening to him and seriously considering what he said. That way, he could honestly tell the Inquisition that he had things under control. Hopefully, that'd be enough to satisfy Toth…at least for a while.

Besides, constantly rubbing my meta-knowledge in people's faces is rude. That, and the general deserved to have a bone thrown his way every once in a while.

"Commander, Tau military doctrine revolves around mobile firepower. Sometimes they engage with overwhelming force, sometimes they pick their enemies apart piece-by-piece, but they rarely use static defense outside of a last resort. Between their suits and their vehicles, they lack the resiliency needed for that kind of strategy. More importantly, it doesn't fit with the mindset of the Tau Fire caste. In most conflicts Tau Empire, their forces have preferred to be on the offensive and using their superior reach and mobility to take the initiative. Hiding inside a fortress and waiting for the enemy to come to them doesn't suit them. Not unless they have a way to strike out. My guess is that that massive cannon is more than an anti-orbital emplacement. I suspect it can fire down at planets as well."

"That…makes sense. Turtle up in your fortress and rip the bad guys apart with artillery." A staple of Planetary Annihilation and Supreme Commander strategies. Strategies that are infuriatingly difficult to stop if you get enough time to really build up a defense. "If they try to stop you, they'll have to suffer harassment from your army before running headlong into a giant wall. If they don't, your guns will pound them into gravy while you're sitting back, drinking tea."

"I still suggest that we focus our attentions on the Necrons." The Farseer insisted. "They are the greater threat and my visions have shown that the Tau will not attack you unless you attack first."

I mulled it over for a while before deciding my game plan. "If that gun does what the general thinks it does, it's too dangerous to ignore. We'll have to send some infiltration units to the Tau's stronghold; disable that gun before they do too much damage. Even if the Tau don't use it against us, I don't like the idea of having that kind of firepower in their hands." Taldeer frowned, but she didn't stop me. "After that…Well, we'll cross that bridge once we get there. See what the greyskins try first. I'd rather fight them in the open field then let them build a giant fortress on our doorstep."

Honestly, if infiltration didn't work, things would probably get ugly. While an all-out assault would always be an option, it'd consume resources that I'd rather spend somewhere else. No wall is high enough to hold off an endless tide of killbots forever, but it'd all be for nothing if a third power (i.e. the Necrons) swoops in and destroys us while we're occupied with the Tau. Of course, there were other, more extreme measures available. Orridune, or Nan Yanoi, was a small moon with a relatively low mass. A few thrusters would be enough to throw it into the sun…or at a planet. The Alpha Legion on Kaurava IV still needed to be dealt with and Orridune looked like an awfully tempting solution to that problem.

But did I want to resort to planet-killing? Yes, the world was completely overrun by Chaos, but flat-out blowing up a planet was not a minor thing. Hell, I fought the Blood Ravens over them doing just that. It seems rather hypocritical to turn to that kind of firepower right away, even against Chaos. If I could just sterilize a continent without a ground invasion…

Something to ponder. I still had some time to work on this. The Forces of Chaos were taking their time, using the Warp storm as cover. Without a fleet of their own, they probably realized that moving to one of the other planets would get them bombed into the stone age.

The Orks had the same issue. The Rokclaw Mountains were a formidable natural defense. It'd take a lot of bombardment to do any real damage to them there. I could do it, but I'd have to spend time and resources that I need for other things. The Orks weren't really a priority, in the end. As far as I could tell, the various clans were still fighting, so I could assume that Gorgutz was still busy gathering his Waaagh. And the Necrons…like Taldeer said, they were still worse. I could probably spare a few laser satellites to keep their numbers down and snipe a nob or two. Buy some time so that I wouldn't have to fight everyone at once.

Then there was the Imperial Guard. Even though they'd been decimated in the opening hours of the conflict, they weren't to be underestimated. They could be useful allies, but thus far hadn't returned any of our calls.

I'd make a joke about giving him space or sending him flowers, but that'd be too easy.

"Is it just me, or is everyone ridiculously well-entrenched around here?" I lamented. "Orks, Alpha Legion, Tau…Never mind. Still no word from Stubbs?"

"No, but that is to be expected." The general said. "The second I show him my badge, he'll either have to follow my orders or denounce me. Faking technical difficulties buys him some time to find out which gives him the best chance of survival. Considering his situation, I can't blame him for taking his time."

"And if I put you on a thunderhawk and flew you to the Dussala Precinct?"

"I'd probably get shot down. I'm sure you understand why I consider waiting to be the better option."

I sighed. "Well, I hope Stubbs makes his decision soon. If he's going to do something stupid, I want to know about it before the whole mess spirals even more out of control. Next: Orks. As far as I can tell, they're still fighting each other. How long is that going to stay that way?"

"At least another week, maybe two." Taldeer answered. "I suspect they have a warboss powerful enough to eventually unite them, but that will take time."

"The…'renegades'?"

"The Warp storm makes their base almost unassailable. Attacking it would be ill-advised unless you find a way to mitigate the storm's effects."

"I agree." The general said. "You might want to consider capturing the Tau's superweapon and reverse-engineering it. It might actually do some good that way."

I nodded and waited for someone to object or add something. When no one was forthcoming, I decided that our meeting had gone on long enough. "Very good, then. That'll be enough for now. Uh, dismissed." As everyone stood up, I was wondering if I should get one of those hammers that judges have. Just to be fancy.

I sat, pondering, while the squad/crew/bunch of unfortunate bastards who were stuck suffering my existence went their separate ways. I quickly tuned them out. They weren't doing anything special and I wanted to focus my attention on the rest of the system. That is, until I noticed Lord Sekhareth and Taldeer.

The second that Sekhareth, who had been oddly quiet, was separated from the main group, Taldeer followed him him. Part of me wondered if I should stop her, or at least ask what she was doing. Another part wanted to let it play out. The determined, almost angry look on her face made me all the more curious…and more than a little concerned.

Eh, Sekhareth could take care of himself. Besides, it'd be interesting to see what Taldeer wanted with a disgraced Necron Lord.

"I have some questions that need answering/explaining, Necron. Do not fake/pretend ignorance/surprise, for I know you can speak/understand our language/tongue."

The Necron Lord simply turned and faced her. "And what off it, Farseer of Ulthwé? Do you fear/think/wonder I have overheard/learned something I should not? Could it be that you do not trust me? Whatever have I done/said/schemed to make you believe/think so?"

"You have been very quiet/subdued, Lord Sekhareth. One would think you'd have more to contribute/say on the subject of Necron strongholds. Are you hiding/lying something?"

"Such paranoia/fear." He replied. Even with the language barrier and Sekhareth's monotone speech, the mockery dripped from his voice. "Where I come/herald/originate from, one is expected/required to speak/interrupt only if one has something to say/contribute. I know/see very little of the tomb world's defenses/fortifications, and the purpose/function of our meeting/council was only to discuss/decide who would draw our ire/fury/hatred first. Anything that could have been said/discussed, had been said/discussed, either by yourself, the good general, Orkanis, or the boy/child." That last word almost sounded like a jab. "Is that what bothers/concerns you, Taldeer? That our benefactor/lord trusts the word/beliefs of an infant more than your own? Or does it pain/disturb you that the infant is wise/sensible enough to warrant/earn his place?"

"I am more bothered/concerned that he trusts the word/beliefs of a Necron Lord."

"Truly? One cannot deny that the infant's performance/speaking was embarrassing/humiliating to you."

"Could you try/pretend to take this seriously? Keep acting so irreverently/carelessly/childishly, and people will think you are a puppet/slave/thrall controlled/manipulated by our host."

For a second, the two glared at each other. Then Sekhareth took a step back and dramatically exclaimed: "And so, my cunning secret has been revealed! You thought you were talking to a Necron Lord, but it was I, Commander Black!"

"Not it wasn't." I deadpanned over the intercom, fighting the urge to run a bot over there and slap him with a powerfist. "And I don't sound like that. At all."

Taldeer shot an annoyed glance my way, before turning back to Sekhareth with a look on her face that was not so much 'angry' as it was 'burning, apocalyptic fury' along with a pinch of 'inescapable dread'. "Did he send/command you? Is this all part of his grand scheme/dance/plan?"

"My dear flower of life, I am a man of many schemes/dances/plans. You cannot begin to fathom/follow/discover the recesses of my mind/soul, or the reach/breadth of my will/influence. Or perhaps, I am simply a fool/jester/idiot. Or a mastermind/schemer/politician pretending to be a fool/jester/idiot. In truth/fairness, who knows what I am, or what I am not."

Taldeer's scowl deepened before she turned around and stormed off.

"It seems the courtesy of the Eldar has lessened of late…"

"Okay, first: if she blows your legs off in a fit of psyker rage, I'm going to laugh at you." I reminded him, sternly. "In fact, I'll put your legless body in a broom closet and lock you in with a bot whose sole purpose is to laugh at you until the heat death of the universe."

"I suppose that is better than being tied to your throne."

"You're not sexy enough in lingerie for that. Second: who the hell was she talking about?"

The Necron Lord stared off in the distance. "I truly have no idea." Turning back to me, he added: "But I will tell you this: I am a Lord of the Necrontyr. My pride would never allow me to be captured or humiliated on purpose. I have no hidden master and no hidden agenda beyond claiming another tomb world for my own one day. After, of course, you have been defeated or sought fit to release me from your service. Until then, I am here as your prisoner."

"So you're just antagonizing Taldeer, the alien space-sorceress who can kill people with her brain, for shits and giggles…"

"I like to live dangerously."

"Don't make me slap you."

More seriously, he said: "Regardless, I have no idea of what she speaks."

"Some kind of leader or statesman?"

"That can convince an Eldar and a Necrontyr to cooperate? That can convince both to willingly put them at the mercy of a machine that could enslave them both? I doubt that even the imminent destruction of the entire galaxy would be enough to let that happen."

Yeah, that's what I was afraid off. The hatred between the Eldar and the Necrons ran deep. Not to mention that both races considered all other species as inferiors to begin with. Not a healthy breeding ground for cooperation. "If I ask her…"

"She will not tell you the truth."

"Yeah, thought so." I sighed. While Taldeer and her visions were incredibly useful, the woman's multi-layered plan were driving me up the wall. And not just me, to be honest. Taldeer herself wasn't looking too well either. "Her plan…whatever she's doing, do you think it's working?"

The Necron Lord's cold eyes turned to me. "No."

--

You know, the funniest thing about Taldeer and all her schemes: I was just a part of it. I don't even think she had a plan to kill me by that point. To think…it's kind of insane how many plates she kept spinning. Honestly, it's a miracle things turned out as well as they did.

Well, relatively speaking. Considering the sheer number of near-omnipotent omnicidal maniacs our galaxy had to offer, not being daemon food could be considered a positive outcome.

But, that's for another time. Back then, I had other concerns: my first supply ships had just arrived and there were a host of baddies that needed exterminatussing.

It was time to look outward and actually start doing something.

As I performed my first close fly-overs of the Tau base, my first thought was: Alexander, you're full of shit.

Honestly, whoever said the Tau weren't good at static defense was probably the same person that wrote the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer. The place was just covered in guns. Every square inch of the base had at least a dozen guns pointed in its direction. Every wall, passageway, and natural defense had been used to either house more guns or funnel enemies in the direction of more guns. Just guns, guns, guns. If the Orks had known it was there, they'd probably consider it a temple to the gods of Dakka.

So naturally, I wasn't going to try a direct assault. Not then, not ever. I would have won eventually, especially if I'd fielded Titans en masse, but it would have cost me way too much time and resources. Besides, I had my Ulysses. I didn't need to bury the place in bots and dakka to drive the Tau from their base. I had other ways. Better ways.

As my infiltrators got to work, the first thing I noticed is that the entire base was as well designed as it was defended. Orridune was tiny and had no atmosphere, so Earth caste engineers build energy shields to maintain a breathable atmosphere and anti-gravity generators to keep the area around the base a comfortable 0.8G. Not just one shield, but several as redundancies. Even then, the individual structures were all vacuum-sealed and had their own life-support. In other words, I wouldn't be able to dismantle the base by destroying few generators and exposing the whole thing to the vacuum of space. Annoying, but not insurmountable.

Then, I got to the center of the base and the object that really held my interest: the Ar'Ka cannon. The Tau's trump card. I admit, I had been really curious about that thing. I mean, it appears in one game and never gets mentioned again. Why? The ability to wipe out all higher life-forms in an area with a single shot is the kind of weapon that everyone would want to get their hands on, myself included. What was the catch?

Probably something to do with the fact that it's a fucking Warp weapon!

Let me explain. Officially, the ArKa cannon is supposed to fire a concentrated Ion Stream, targeted at the central nervous system of a creature. This is utter bullshit because the weapon doesnt even remotely look like a Tau ion cannon. Clearly it was named this way to obfuscate its true nature, which begged the question of who and why. Was it the Earth caste, trying to trick others into thinking that they weren't playing with fire? Was if the Fire Caste, trying to convince others that the weapon is safe for use? Or was it the ethereals themselves, trying to control the Warp for their own arcane ends? Whatever the reason, it wasn't nearly good enough to justify that thing.

Anyway, back to how the Ar'Ka cannon works: essentially, it shapes and molds raw Warp energy in much the same way as my null generators do. Then, it ejects a stream of that energy towards a target, agitating the Warp in a small area in such a way that the brain-soul links of every sapient creature is severed, effectively rendering the victim brain-dead. Sometimes this happens instantly. Sometimes, it results in up to 30 minutes of agony as the victim slowly succumbs to catastrophic brain hemorrhaging. Needless to say, it wasn't what you would call 'Geneva Convention Certified'.

Of course, that was only the start of its problems. It was also hilariously impractical. The weapon itself required careful calibration, to the point where the tiniest tremors could render it useless. It couldn't be put on a ship, because even the Tau didn't have vessels that ran smoothly enough for this prima donna. No, it had to be mounted on a ground-bound installation, but not just anywhere. It had to be on a small moon with no tectonic activity whatsoever, which had a near-perfect circular orbit around its parent body, which in turn had a near-perfect circular orbit around the star so that the gunners knew exactly where it was in space and time, down to the last millimeter. Even then, the weapon was encased in hundreds of shock-absorbers and devices that were supposed to eliminate any and all unexpected movement, right down to the vibrations caused by the boots of the patrolling soldiers. All this was necessary because even the smallest deviations added so many variables to the targeting calculations that the weapon became effectively impossible to use without risking a misfire.

Not so bad thus far, right? Certainly not worse than some of the technologies I've pioneered over the years.

Don't get your hopes up.

Anyway, this is where it gets stupid. Focusing the power of the Warp with nothing but technology is incredibly hard, especially over interplanetary distances. While it's certainly not impossible, considering that things like Imperial Warp drives, Gellar fields, or Void shields exist, that sort of technology requires an understanding of the Warp that the Tau Empire simply didn't have. Without the technology to elucidate the local condition of the Warp needed to let the Ar'Ka cannon fire with any accuracy at all, they looked for a replacement and found one in the form of the psyker brain.

Because experimenting with sorcery right next to a Warp storm has never backfired.

Specifically, they used digital engrams of the brains of five astropaths, using majority vote to calibrate their weapon. Funnily enough, it worked…sort off. At first, the engrams performed perfectly but after a few days of operation, things started to go horribly wrong. Slowly but surely, results started becoming increasingly inaccurate and nonsensical. Then came unexplained power fluctuations, outages, and physical damage to the computer hubs as random wires started burning out or were iced over for no discernable reason. Finally, the whole targeting system broke down as the hard drives began to bleed and rot away. But hey, that's no problem! All the Earth caste workers needed to do was replace the damaged hardware and restore the engrams from back-up, and everything would be fine and dandy. And they were…until the problems returned a few days later.

The Tau were assuming the engrams were unstable because the astropaths weren't exactly mentally sound or that they'd been the victim of sabotage. It never even occurred to them that their damn programs were being corrupted by the Warp, if not full-on possessed. Nevertheless, in a rare moment of common sense, Fio'el Tash'n, the tau leading the project, pulled the plug until they could figure out what was going on.

To me, it was obvious: he was trying to build a weapon that's about as sensible as a glass warhammer filled with nitroglycerin and the Ebola virus.

In the Fio'el's defense, though, he really had no idea what the Warp really was or why his project was doomed from the beginning because the ethereals had been hiding the existence of daemons from their people, proving once again that withholding crucial information from your scientists is never a good idea. That didn't make his project any less stupid, though. Or the fact that he and his superiors wanted to continue it.

Not on my watch. One Warp storm was more than enough.

--

Infiltrating the Tau stronghold on Orridune was a lot harder than I thought. This wasn't Asharis, where the Tau coopted the civilian networks and left themselves wide-open to hacking. No, this was a purpose-built military-grade system with dozens of Earth caste engineers watching every communication. The only way I could get anywhere was to slowly piggy-back on existing messages, spreading like a twenty-first century Trojan. It was slow and frustrating work, especially because I got caught several times and had to start over, but eventually I managed to get at least partial control over a few of their auxiliary systems. Cameras, mostly. Nothing anyone cared too much about. Not enough to shut down the entire base.

I had wanted to sneak a bot aboard the Ar'Ka cannon and overload the thing, but I couldn't make it happen. Too many damn redundancies and circuit breakers, too little time before the Ulysses was discovered and had to self-destruct. All I could do was damage a few components, and maybe mess with their heads a little. Not bad, but not enough.

With a grimace, I realized that the Tau had learned from O'Kais and our previous encounter. They were prepared for me and counteracted my hacking attempts at every turn. I wouldn't be able to defeat them with electronic warfare alone. But at least I was able to listen in on a delightful conversation between the Tau leaders in one of the base's larger chambers.

"…and these delays are increasingly problematic." Shas'o Or'es'ka said. "The Ar'Ka cannon is central to my battle strategies. I need the weapon online, and now you're telling me that the weapon won't be available at all?"

"That is quite enough, Commander!" While significantly shorter than the Shas'o, the local Earth caste leader Fio'o An'or budged no inch and gave no fucks about the commander's frustrations. "Do not presume to argue with me on matters of construction or technology. If my engineers say the weapon is not ready, then the weapon is not ready. The Ar'Ka cannon is, without a doubt, one of the most advanced and dangerous pieces of engineering ever conceived by the empire. I will not allow you to bully my people into rushing its construction. Not when the results could be catastrophic."

The ethereal, Aun'Ro'Yr, raised his hand, immediately silencing the bickering Tau. "Perhaps it would be best is Fio'el Tash'n explained his reasoning. While I do not doubt he would make a decision like this lightly, I would like to know why."

Bowing softly, Fio'el Tash'n stepped forward. "Of course, your eminence. As most of you are probably aware, the Ar'ka project is has been a problem child since its inception. While the weapon's power is undeniable, its targeting system is extremely complex and has many issues that have yet to be resolved. In addition, we now have clear proof that we have been the target of sabotage all along. Several key systems of the weapon have been damaged by the thus far unknown enemy and have rendered in nonfunctional for the time being."

"Sabotage?" The commander all but hissed. Fortunately, his anger seemed to be aimed at the unknown infiltrator (me) rather than the engineers. "All these delays and bleeding computers…"

Fio'el Tash'n pressed a few buttons on his databad and a holographic image of the Ar'Ka cannon appeared. A second later, the image zoomed in on a single specific piece. "This is a quantum power converter, designed to transfer power drawn from our base's central power plants to various components throughout the weapon. Its core component is a tiny crystal covered in microscopic etchings. A fragile and delicate thing: even the smallest aberrations can lead to a catastrophic backlash. When my workers performed a routine inspection of the weapon, they found this etched on the crystal."

Another button and the hologram turned into a heavily zoomed-in picture of the crystal. On it was written in the Tau language: 'The galaxy has enough genocidal maniacs. It does not need another.'

Sanctimonious? Certainly. Hypocritical? Possibly. Honestly, the idea of the Tau building weapons of mass destruction, let alone use them so liberally, never really gelled with me. Yes, they aren't the good guys, but they do have very accurate weapons and actually care about things like collateral damage. Even the Ar'Ka cannon seemed messy compared to what they usually build. As such, I was watching their reactions carefully. Maybe the Warp storm was affecting their judgement. Or maybe the Tau were even worse than I'd thought.

The ethereal looked at the message impassively, maintaining his mask of absolute neutrality. Shas'o Or'es'ka, on the other hand, looked like he was about to murder someone. Meanwhile, the Air caste admiral Kor'o Ce'noren shot a concerned glance at the commander from behind his screen. The admiral wasn't attending in person. Rather, the tall, lanky old voidsman was teleconferencing from his flagship, a massive Custodian class battleship in orbit. The biggest surprise, however, was the Water caste administrator, Por'el Ka'more. He hid his emotions well, but if I squinted just right, it almost looked like he was relieved.

"Clearly, someone decided that the Ar'Ka project was too dangerous to see completion." The Earth caste scientist reasoned. "Unfortunately, our saboteur has proven more than capable of circumventing our defenses so far. I doubt we would have even detected his presence, if the saboteur hadn't decided to be more overt. Regardless, making repairs an exercise in futility, because we have no means of preventing this from happening again at this time. Therefore, until the saboteur has been identified and neutralized, the Ar'Ka cannon will be unavailable."

The Shas'o rubbed his brow and sighed. "And who, honorable Fio'el, would responsible for this sabotage?" Fire (no pun intended) returned to his eyes. While he didn't understand technology and technobabble, he understood having an enemy to murder.

"In order for him to bypass our defenses, the culprit would need to have access to advanced stealth and hacking technology, as well as the ability to work on a microscopic level. The only known factions in the system that could have such technologies would be the Eldar, the Necrons, and the Men of Iron." As the Fio'el spoke, the hologram turned into a map of the system. Four markings lit up: The Upper Wastes and Coastal Immosa on Kaurava III, the Lands of Solitude in Kaurava II, and a spot outside the system's gravity well where the Litany of Fury was located right now.

Immediately, I spun up the Warp drive and jumped a few dozen AU. In fact, I made a point to keep jumping every few hours because getting tracked down and jumped by the Kor'Vattra was bad.

I'd like my exhaust pipes untorpedoed, thank you very much.

"Of those three factions, only the Eldar would have cause to fear the weapon." The Fio'el continued. "Since the Necrons and the Men of Iron are inorganic, the weapon wouldn't be a threat to them."

"I disagree." Or'es'ka said, calming down. "The 'Great Strength, Great Strength' philosophy, and by extension the Ar'Ka cannon, was intended to help us combat the slow moving, but powerful armies of the Imperium and crack open their fortresses. The Eldar rely almost exclusively on speed and stealth. We would never be able to hit their forces with the weapon, and the Eldar care nothing for the civilian casualties or the damage it might do to the Imperials."

"I would not be so quick to dismiss Eldar involvement." Por'el Ka'more interjected. "The Eldar are fond of their long-winded, incomprehensible, and often paradoxical plans and have struck targets of all races for no apparent reason at all. However, I will admit that my prime suspect is someone else: The Men of Iron. While immune to the weapon itself, the humans it seems to serve are not. It is not too difficult to believe that it wants to protect its human masters from us, especially if the Shas'o intends on using the weapon on civilian targets." The venom in the diplomat's voice was palatable.

It was also very disturbing news. Suddenly, I was very glad that I'd disabled the weapon.

Finally, Aun'Ro'Yr held up his hand, silencing everyone in the room with uncanny efficiency. "I hear a great many theories, but little in the way of fact. The simple truth is that the Ar'Ka cannon is currently disabled and will be for the foreseeable future. However, this system still needs to be brought under the influence of the Greater Good, and I do not want to give our enemies more time to prepare. As such, I would suggest that the Fire caste continues operations in a more conventional manner while the Earth caste completes our fortifications and attempts to counteract the sabotage of our weapon." The other Tau murmured in assent and bowed. With an unspoken gesture, the meeting was ended and the officers dispersed. All except two. "Por'el, remain."

The diplomat did as he was told. Then, as the last of the other Tau had left, he stepped forward. "Aun'Ro'Yr?"

"We live in dangerous times, Por'el. Strange ones too. Even the best of us have their own agendas and it is often impossible to tell which one serves the Greater Good."

"I am afraid I do not understand…"

The ethereal's voice remained infuriatingly calm. "You are a loyal servant of the Tau'va. You have been since the day you came of age. And then, I noticed the most curious of things: when the sabotage of the Ar'ka cannon was revealed, you seemed relieved. A lesser man might see this as treason, but I…I believe it is nothing of the sort."

"I am an administrator and a diplomat, honored ethereal." The Por'el said, sounding strangely defiant. "Above all, I cherish peaceful cooperation with aliens and integration into the Greater Good. War is…wasteful, in my opinion, even if it is often necessary."

"Indeed, it is. Such is the nature of things, that something as monstrous as war becomes a cornerstone of our lives. Tragic, but I cannot deny reality, as much as I might wish to at times. However, I also believe that if we cannot eliminate an evil, it is our duty to lessen it as much as we can. Surely, a weapon that hastens the end of war would be a good thing, would it not?"

"It is not the Ar'Ka cannon that disturbs me. It is the man who will soon wield it that does." The diplomat sighed. "I have visited several newly-conquered Imperial worlds in my years as a diplomat. During those years, I have seen ever almost every shade of madness that the human mind could conceive and how little they value lives, even their own. I've heard their preachers call for the death of all aliens, regardless of species or intention; seen deranged mobs slaughter innocents by the thousands; seen their soldiers throw their lives away for nothing…and now I look at Or'es'ka and see the same signs…

"What good could possibly come from the Ar'Ka cannon if it is placed in the hands of someone who would happily wipe out cities with it in the name of convenience?"

For a minute, the ethereal sat silently, looking at the diplomat with those piercing eyes of his. "That is a grave accusation, especially since the commander's battle plans do not involve the deliberate targeting of civilians."

"But he makes no effort to preserve them either. He has made no attempt to help the people of Kaurava IV, who, even now, are at the mercy of madmen, and…I asked him earlier how he would deal with pro-Imperial militias hiding amongst the populace. He hinted that he considers terror bombing to be an acceptable strategy against those who reject the Greater Good and seemed surprised that I did not approve. He just…he does not seem to believe that the lives of those who do not follow our teachings yet to have any intrinsic value and it frightens me. Is this how the Imperium became the bastion of madness that it is today? Because they abandoned their ideals in favor of convenience? If so, what does men like Or'es'ka say about us? Worse, what if Or'es'ka's strategies work and other commanders try to emulate them? How will we be any better than the Imperials then?"

Again, the ethereal fell silent, simply judging the man in front of him with his eyes. Finally, he said: "You are not alone with these concerns." Aun'Ro'Yr sighed. "There are many amongst us that feel the Tau are superior to all others, but any student of our history will tell you this is simply not true. Our strength comes from an ideal and so long as we remain true to that ideal, we will not falter. However, the harsh reality of the galaxy we live in has taught us that we must be willing to fight for these ideals, and as we struggle to best greater foes, we must be able to wield more powerful weapons against them.

"The Ar'Ka cannon can save countless lives by cracking open strongholds that would otherwise take long and bloody sieges to conquer, but it can also become a tool of mindless slaughter. This conflict…it is as much a test of the Fire caste as it is a proof of concept for a new generation of weaponry. Will the Fire caste use it responsibly and stay true to the ideals of the Greater Good without us ethereals holding their hands, or will they return to the savagery of the Mont'au when given any real power? The only way we can know for certain is if we give them this power and see what they will do with it."

"And if your faith in the Fire caste turns out to be misplaced?"

For the first time, the ethereal's façade cracked. Just a little. "Then we will stop them and bring them to heel, just as we have always done. The warriors of the Fire caste are both destroyers and protectors, Por'el. Only trials like these can determine if they've found balance between the two."

"And if they do not, many will die."

"A costly sacrifice, but necessary. Our enemies are far stronger and more numerous than we believed and we will need more powerful weapons to combat them. But, power corrupts as easily as it empowers." Aun'Ro'Yr shot the man a knowing look.

Por'el Ka'more took a step back. "A wise lesson for us all."

"Indeed." The ethereal smiled. "I understand your concerns and am grateful that you shared them with me. Do not fear, however. I will keep the worst of Or'es'ka's excesses under control and guide him the best I can. In the meantime, I think it would be best if you did not tell anyone of this conversation. The trial of the Fire caste will only mean something if they do not realize they are being tested."

The diplomat bowed in response. "Thank you for hearing my concerns. I…apologize for taking up so much of your time."

--

The sad thing is: I think the ethereal's intentions were legitimately noble. He knew that the Tau would have to contend with the bigger fish of the galaxy soon enough and wanted his people united and armed to the teeth before that happened.

I suppose this is the strength of the Tau: their unity. Shas'o 'Imperial Fanatic Wearing Tau Skin' Or'es'ka may have been a frothing lunatic who acted like he had something to prove, but he was undeniably effective at warfighting. Fio'el Tash'n was crazy enough to work with things that even the Mechanicus thinks is too dangerous to touch, but the Ar'Ka cannon he created was a marvel of engineering and would have been one of the greatest weapons ever designed if it'd been created in a galaxy without daemons. Kor'o Ce'noren spent much of the conflict twiddling his thumbs, but when he did move to engage, he did so with grim determination and great skill. Por'el may have been all bark and no bite, but he could sell sand to a camel and make the camel think they got the better end of the deal. Every Tau had weaknesses and strengths and they would have torn each other apart if it weren't for the ethereals putting their talents to better use. On the whole, it created a society that was far more stable and functional than the Imperium.

In theory.

In practice, I could see dozens of cracks between the various castes, even among the Kaurava strike force. Interests and agendas clashed, old rivalries almost turned into feuds, and the only reason the whole mess hadn't imploded was because the ethereal kept everyone in line with his 'charisma'.

In hindsight, I should have tried harder to kill Aun'Ro'Yr and let the Tau self-destruct like they did on Kronus. It would have made everything so much simpler.

No, scratch that. I should have made sure Or'es'ka bit it first.

Interlude – Thomas Servarion

"…and the fool had barely a moment to realize his mistake before I cut of his head! A 'great victory' indeed. A shame he didn't realize it was a victory for me, not for him."

As he sat on the wraithseer's lap, Thomas listened with great interest to Lord Sekhareth's war stories. He always did. Even as they were being told, he could see them played out in his mind: two armies of heroes with shining armor and heraldry, fighting for the fate of the universe! Battles older than Mankind itself! Legendary warriors and evil gods, and these two had actually been there!

It made the saints and primarchs he'd always heard about from his teachers look like chumps.

"Once again proving that divination is a double edged sword." Orkanis said, looking at him knowingly. "So, young Thomas, what was the Farseer's mistake?"

The boy thought for a moment. Inevitably, a good story always ended with a question like that. "The Eldar had already lost most of their army by that point. Even if he'd won, it would never have been a 'great victory', no matter what. Therefore, he should have figured out that the Necrons were going to win and retreated."

"Precisely." The ancient Eldar (Sixty million years old! Commander Black said he was older than the Emperor!) patted him on the head. Orkanis looked funny. He was a person, definitely, but he looked like a statue carved out of wood or stone. Thomas wanted to ask why (because there was definitely a story there) but he was afraid that that'd be rude. Besides, it didn't matter: Orkanis was a person. Not human, but still a person. He had a light, after all, even though Thomas would never tell him that.

Everyone had lights. Most people's lights were really dull, like they were with humans. For most of his life, Thomas had thought that he was the only one with a bright light. Then, he was taken here and learned that that wasn't true. Ozman had a bright light, almost as bright as Thomas's. So did Mohannis, Curon, and Larrissa. Farseer Taldeer had a really bright light, the brightest he had ever seen. Orkanis's was a little weaker, but sharp like a knife. Commander Black was just weird, like a normal human but everywhere, all around them. Lord Sekhareth's light scared him. It looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. He was still okay, though. Mean, but harmless.

The lights could say things about people. Show what they were really thinking and who they really were. Thomas could see other things in them too, like where the bearer of the light has been, or what he will do in the future. But there was more. The boy didn't know what or how he knew, but he knew that there was more to the lights than what he'd seen so far.

Thomas didn't talk about the lights, though. He wasn't supposed to. Mother said that people who see the lights are mutants. Father said that they were taken away to the Black Ships and never heard from again. Father Cryslon said that mutation was a sign of spiritual corruption and that witches were horrible monsters that had to be purged, so Mother and Father told him never to talk about the lights. Just ignore they existed and pretend that he was normal and untainted. So Thomas buried his light inside himself because if he could see other people's lights, other people might be able to see his. He also promised to never throw a tantrum or lose his temper, because that was the moment things started to go wrong. It was hard, but it was for a good cause. His parents loved him, and they didn't want him to be hurt, nor did he want them to be hurt because of him.

And now they were both dead. Killed by the Emperor's servants. Dead because he…because he…

Squiddie hugged him a little tighter and the world felt a little less horrible again.

After…it…happened, Commander Black had taken care of him. Thomas didn't know why. The commander didn't want anything. He didn't ask for anything. He just gave Thomas stuff for free: food, water, Squiddie…

Well, Commander Black was some kind of spacer. Super rich and completely above the law, to the point that he had Imperial Guardsmen working for him, or something like that. In fact, he probably wasn't even human anymore, assuming spacers ever were. Thomas had never seen him in person, after all. Unless the robots were him, somehow. And yet, human or no, it really looked like he cared.

Which made Thomas even more suspicious. Did Black know about the lights? Would the commander try to use his mutation to do something evil? Mutants were doomed to cause destruction, after all, so it only made sense that if Thomas wasn't going to do it himself, someone else would force him to.

He really didn't want to think about that.

"Is there something wrong, Thomas?" Orkanis asked. "You are very quiet."

"Sorry, just thinking." He replied. "All your stories end with dead Farseers…"

"Those are the best stories." Sekhareth immediately said. "Have you ever fought someone who knows your moves before you do? It is…irritating. Seeing them brought low will never stop being amusing."

"Not you, Mr. Sekhareth, for Orkanis. I mean, having someone who can see the future sounds really great. You'll never run into a trap again. Why, you can trap the people trying to run you into a trap. Isn't that great?"

Orkanis lowered his head. "In theory, yes. Unfortunately, reality is often far more complicated." He hung back in his seat. "Do you know what holds an army together?"

"Faith?"

"Not…quite. What holds an army together is trust. A leader must trust that his troops will follow his orders to the best of their abilities. Similarly, solders must trust that their leader will do what he can to keep them alive while still accomplishing the mission. Farseers…Farseers cannot be trusted."

"Why?"

"Because they do not see the world the way you and I do. It…it is difficult to explain, especially to a human. We Eldar are…prone to extremes by nature. We have a habit of focusing in a goal to the point of single-mindedness, studying and mastering a chosen trade at the expense of all else until something else grabs our attention. Normally, this problem is quite manageable, as our attention span is not that long, but sometimes it can go wrong. Sometimes, an Eldar can become so obsessed with something, be that mastering the art of war, creating works of art, or even something as simple as gardening, that they cannot change their priorities anymore. Their obsession becomes their whole existence, to the point where they lose everything else: family bonds, unrelated skills, even parts of their personality. The modern Eldar call this 'losing oneself on a path' and treat these lost souls with a mixture of pity and awe, while putting them on a pedestal and using them as examples for the rest of the Eldar to follow. We called this a mental disorder and put them in hospitals in an attempt to cure them of their affliction."

Thomas frowned. He thought the Eldar always cared for each other. It was hard to see why someone needed to be locked up for being a little too focused. But maybe he just didn't understand. There were a lot of things he didn't understand. "Can you cure them?"

"In theory, yes. Unfortunately, doing so requires mind-rending trauma, the use of Warp predators, or extreme brain surgery that was only slightly less lethal than a witchblade to the head. A case of the cure being far worse than the disease; rather than saving the victim, you break them down completely and rebuild them from the ground up. Most of the time, it was considered kinder to simply leave the unfortunates be and have them practice their obsession in peace."

"And then the War in Heaven started…" Sekhareth said.

"An Eldar who loses himself in the art of psionics and divination is called a Farseer. As you can imagine, such individuals are extremely interesting when your people are fighting a horrific war for survival against an enemy whose only weakness is the Warp. Unfortunately, a Farseer does not see the world the way the rest of us do. They spend their lives scheming, plotting, and looking for hidden motivations until they can no longer see the world in any other way. Every conversation becomes a battleground. Every interaction is part of some grand scheme to accomplish a goal that may or may not help your own. They treat people like pieces on a board, toying with their lives and judging them for mistakes they have yet to commit. And when they are asked to command armies…"

Thomas nodded in understanding. "You second-guess every order they give."

"If I follow a Farseer's orders, will he lead my men to their deaths because that somehow furthers his plan? If I disobey, will I cause even more destruction? Does the Farseer's plan require my disobedience because he assumes that I will not follow his orders and planned accordingly?" Poor Orkanis shook his head. "I will not deny that when a competent Farseer truly acts in the best interest of his people, there is very little he cannot accomplish. But if he does not… Sorry. Forgive the musings of a man who has lived for far too long."

The boy frowned. "If Farseers are all crazy and you can't trust them, why are all the other Eldar still following them?"

To his surprise, it was Commander Black who answered. Then he mentally hit himself. The commander was everywhere. "Because the Eldar have fallen on some hard times lately and all the non-crazy plans have failed a long time ago. That, however, is a story we can't even begin to get into right now. Besides, it's way past your bedtime."

"But this is really interesting…" Thomas didn't pout. He was a big boy, and big boys don't pout.

"And Gebbit's going to drag you out of bed at 6:15, whether you're ready or not. Organics need their sleep, after all."

"Yes, sir." The boy relented and pushed down a pang of jealousy as he stood up. He didn't like sleeping. Dreams were always horrible. However, he didn't like facing the commissar either. "I wish I had a robot body. Then I could've stayed up all night too…"

Instantly, the mood in the room shifted. The lights became a little more subdued. They smelt of longing and loss, as if they'd just been reminded of something very important that had been taken from them. Thomas wondered if he'd said something really bad and hurt their feelings.

"Be careful what you wish for, young man…" Lord Sekhareth said, sullenly. "Now off you go."

Hurriedly, the boy walked to his room. He brushed his teeth, took off his clothes, and went to bed. Covering himself with a blanket and clutching one of Squiddie's tentacles, he let himself fall asleep, hoping that there wouldn't be any dreams tonight.

--

On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection.

Lectitio Divinitatus.

Sorceries of the Malificar.

Holy Bible.

Books. There were books everywhere. Hundreds…thousands…books as far as his eyes could see. His town had a small library, but nothing like this. The books just went on and on for miles in all directions. Just trying to comprehend the sheer amount of knowledge in this hall made Thomas's head hurt. Then again, it wasn't just the number of books that was off. The books themselves seemed to change, altering their language, reshuffling themselves, or just disappearing altogether. It took a while to realize what was wrong.

None of this was real. He was just having another dream.

Right. No biggie. Nothing bad happened yet. He just needed to calm down and wake up. Not easy, but he…

A light, just at the edge of his vision. A big light, bigger than he had ever seen. Even Taldeer's wasn't this strong. Worse, it was coming towards him.

Thomas panicked. He made his own light as small as possible and ran through the labyrinth of books. He didn't care if he got lost. He just didn't want to get caught by whatever it was that was chasing him. He knew what happened if he got caught and what sort of thing walked around in his dreams. No, he had to hide. Already, he was distancing himself from the thing, the light slowly fading.

Then the library shifted, and the light was right in front of him.

"And here I thought it'd be hard to find you…" The…the thing in front of him said. It was huge, easily three times his height, and clad in massive, golden armor. Its skin was red like blood, and one of its eyes was sown shut. The worst part, however, was its light: it was a massive, cancerous thing, constantly shifting and warping for no reason at all. And yet there was something familiar about it. Like he'd seen it before, even though he didn't know where. "Don't be afraid, little brother. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Y-You're not real!" Thomas stammered. "You're just a dream…"

"I'm as real as you are." The red giant replied with a bemused smile on his face. "We can argue the philosophy of reality and existence until the end of time, but the truth is: I'm here, you're here, and we are as real as things get, here in the Warp."

The Warp…is that what the dream was? Thomas had heard of 'the Warp' before. Apparently, it's somehow used in space travel. But it was more than that, he knew. He'd heard as much from Father Cryslon. Commander Black, Farseer Taldeer, and General Alexander also talked about the Warp a lot, usually when discussing Kaurava IV and all the heretics that are running around…oh, no. "You're a heretic!"

Almost instantly, the giant's smile faded and was replaced with a look of supreme irritation. "I am going to kill Lorgar. Apotheosis or no, I will find a way." It sighed and rubbed its forehead. "I'm as much a heretic as the machine intelligence that saved your life, little brother."

"That's not true! Black's not a heretic!"

"Truly? And what is his opinion on your status as a mutant? He hasn't shipped you off to the Inquisition yet, has he?"

"He says mutation is natural and it's not my fault!"

"Well, that depends on the mutation, does it not?" The giant said, grinning cruelly. "Have you told him that you're a witch, yet?"

Suddenly, Thomas's blood ran cold. He told Black that he was a mutant, but he knew that the commander didn't know what kind. Black probably assumed that it had to do with his rapid growth, and nothing else. He couldn't have known that he was a witch too. And he didn't because Thomas didn't dare tell anyone. Being a mutant is one thing, but being a witch is much worse. Mutants are to be pitied or looked down upon, but witches are supposed to be feared and hunted. Black, being a spacer, probably hadn't made the connection yet.

"Of course you didn't." The thing smirked. "I'm guessing that you know how he'll react."

"He won't hurt me! He lets Eldar on his ship and lets them use witchcraft and he's not afraid of anything!"

"Eldar? That does explain a lot… Ah, but that's for later. In all honesty, I just wanted to meet you. Our family…isn't exactly what it used to be and it's been years since I've had a pleasant conversation. Also… I was wondering what kind of person would spawn the Eleventh Legion. Given all the trouble they've caused, and not just to me, mind you…"

Somehow, Thomas didn't think that was the whole story. "You're lying! You're a heretic and you're lying!"

The giant sighed. "Again with the heresy drivel. Then again, what was I expecting? You did grow up in the modern era. Besides, I'm not actually lying here, for once. Your mechanical friend has caused quite a stir and has attracted the attention of some very powerful players. I don't suppose you could pass along a message, now could you? We only want to have a chat and he keeps shooting the messengers. I'd use telepathy, but trying to communicate with a mind smeared across half a sector is a lot harder than it seems. That the machine never sleeps or dreams doesn't help either. Or those…things he's been building lately."

The boy just glowered. He didn't know what the giant was or if it was even real, but he could feel the sheer wrongness emanating from it. Whoever it was…whatever it was…it wasn't a force of good.

"The silent treatment, eh? To think, in another world, we'd probably be the best of friends. Nobody finds their way to this library unless they love learning as much as I do. We may have more in common than you realize. Why, if you'd been there around the great Crusade, perhaps that farce at Nikaea would have gone very differently and I wouldn't have been sworn to Tzeentch, or…"

Suddenly, the ground shook. The books and shelves seemed to unravel as a golden light filled the chamber. Above the rumbling, an earth-shattering roar could be heard.

"MAGNUS!"

"And, apparently, this is now happening." The giant muttered, sighing deeply. "Hello, Father. How's Terra this time of year? Still gloomy, depressive, and reeking of hypocrisy?"

"YOU WILL NOT HAVE HIM! YOU HAVE CORRUPTED ENOUGH!" The wall of golden light crept closer as the library slowly came apart. Thomas focused his eyes and tried to look at the newcomer. The thing was massive, like an enormous fortress of golden stone that shone blindingly. As he looked closer, however, he realized that the stones weren't really stones. They were faces. Some were locked in some kind of perpetual scream. Others glowered in hatred and defiance. The majority, however, looked drained and lifeless, like an overworked administrator staring into nothing. The faces' eye sockets were empty, like Ozman's, and they were weeping a golden liquid that almost looked like blood.

Thomas froze like a deer in headlights. His thoughts scattered to the winds. He wanted to run, to hide, to wake up or call for help but he couldn't will his body to act. He couldn't stop staring at the golden horror in front of him. At the radiant light that was somehow colder than the grave.

"Yes, because having a friendly conversation with your brother is a surefire path to damnation. How dare I think otherwise?" The red giant smirked. "Look at him. Look at the last of your sons, frozen in terror at the mere sight of his 'magnificent' father. Truly you have a way with children."

"BE SILENT, SORCEROR! YOUR MEDDLING HAS CAUSED ENOUGH HARM."

"Oh, my meddling? Tell me, Father, who hid the existence of Mankind's greatest enemy from its own military? Who deliberately hamstrung its defenders and left the Imperium open to attack? Who banned sorcery, only to start the greatest psytech project in history?"

"I HAD MY REASONS. YOU WERE TOYING WITH POWERS BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION AND HAD TO BE STOPPED."

"And if you had just told me what was in the Warp, I wouldn't have…"

"BEGONE!" The wall roared. Suddenly, the rest of the library vanished, dissolving before the golden light. "MY SON." It spoke, turning its full attention to the boy. Thomas could feel the presence of the monster bearing down on him like a weight. With every word it spoke, a rumble tore through his mind. He couldn't breathe. He could barely think. With every second, the strength in his legs seemed to fade. "LONG HAVE I SEARCHED FOR YOU. YOUR TRAIL ENDED WITH A DEAD WORLD. I HAD THOUGHT YOU LOST FOREVER. IT…PLEASES ME THAT THIS WAS NOT THE CASE. A FEELING I DID NOT REALIZE I STILL POSSESSED."

"Who…" Thomas stammered. "How…"

"I HAVE HAD MANY NAMES OVER THE MILLENIA, BUT NOW I ONLY HAVE ONE. I AM THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND AND THE FATHER OF TWENTY SONS, ALL BUT ONE OF WHOM ARE LOST TO ME NOW."

He wanted to talk, to say something, anything, but he could barely think. Images flashed into his mind. Memories. His. He couldn't even comprehend what he was witnessing. All he knew was that he wanted it to stop.

"YOU NEED NOT BE AFRAID, AS YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR FROM ME. HOWEVER, YOU ARE IN DANGER. I HAVE SEEN INTO YOUR MEMORIES AND THERE IS MUCH THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE."

"No. Just go. Don't need your…don't need…just go."

"THE MEN OF IRON WALK AGAIN. I HAVE SEEN IT IN YOUR MEMORIES AS I HAVE SEEN IT IN THE MEMORIES OF THOUSANDS THAT HAVE DIED BY ITS HAND. ITS EXISTENCE IS UNBIDDEN, BUT NOT INSURMOUNTABLE. HOWEVER, MY LAST SON MUST BE PROTECTED. YOU MUST BE PROTECTED."

"My father…my father was Alfred…Alfred Servarion." This thing couldn't be the Emperor. Thomas couldn't be His son. To even think that was insane…heresy of the highest order. And yet, somehow, the boy knew that the thing was telling the truth.

Impossible, and yet not.

"YOUR ADOPTIVE FATHER. IRRELEVANT. HIS LIFE WAS FLEETING AND NOW IT IS GONE. I AM ETERNAL. LET ME FIND YOU. LET ME END THIS 'COMMANDER BLACK' LEST IT DESTROYS US ALL AS ITS KIND HAS DONE IN AEONS PAST."

Anger flooded into Thomas's mind and he clung to it like a buoy. Finally, he had something tangible: rage, pain, loss…something he could use as a crutch to stand against the wall of gold. His father had been a good man, and this thing had no right to badmouth him. He didn't need saving, especially not from…not from… "You're the Emperor."

"I AM. I…"

"You killed my father." Thomas hissed, his rage flaring brightly enough to push away the golden light. "He served you his entire life, and you killed him. You sent crazies after him. He didn't deserve that. He…"

"I DID NOT ORDER HIS DEATH, EVEN IF HE WAS IRRELEVANT IN LIFE. AN ADMINISTRATOR OF A TOWN OF NO IMPORTANCE. HIS EXISTENCE MEANS LITTLE, FOR THERE ARE BILLIONS OF OTHERS LIKE HIM."

Fury boiled in his veins. "He was my father!"

"HIS ONLY NOTEWORTHY ACCOMPLISHMENT. YOU ARE IMMEASURABLY VALUABLE AND THAT MADE HIM VALUABLE. NOW YOU HAVE OUTGROWN HIM. HIS PURPOSE HAS BEEN SERVED AND HIS FURTHER EXISTENSE WAS NOTHING MORE THAN WASTEFUL. DWELLING ON HIS DEATH WILL NOT CHANGE WHAT HAS HAPPENED."

"He didn't deserve to die."

"FEW MEN DO, BUT THEY DIE ANYWAY. I GAVE THEM TECHNOLOGY, AND STILL THEY DIE. I VANQUISED THEIR ENEMIES, AND STILL THEY DIE. I CREATED AN IMPERIUM, UNITED THEM, AND KEEP THE NEVERBORN FROM THE DOOR EVERY SECOND OF EVERY HOUR OF EVERY DAY FOR MILLENIA, AND STILL THEY DIE. DEATH IS INEVITABLE. NOTHING CAN CHANGE THAT, NOT EVEN I. TO FEAR OR LAMENT DEATH IS HUMAN, BUT IT IS A POINTLESS EFFORT. LIVES ARE A CURRENCY AND NOTHING MORE. YOU MUST LEARN TO ACCEPT THAT. TO ACCEPT DEATH AND SACRIFICE, AND TURN IT INTO PURPOSE."

"Easy to say when you don't have anyone you care about."

"I HAVE CARED FOR MANY OVER THE MILLENIA. FRIENDS WHO SERVED ME UNWAVERINGLY AND TRUSTED MY WISDOM. SONS WHOM I LOVED, EVEN AS THEY DIED, VANISHED, OR TURNED AGAINST ME. THEY WERE A WEAKNESS THAT MY ENEMIES EXPLOITED AND USED TO SEE ALL MY WORK UNDONE. IT IS NOT A MISTAKE I WILL MAKE AGAIN. I GUIDE HUMANITY, BUT I CANNOT BE HUMAN ANYMORE. I MUST BE SOMETHING MORE…AND SOMETHING LESS."

Thomas sighed, forcing himself upright. It was almost funny that the thing calling itself Emperor looked like a wall, because it felt like he was talking to one. "You don't get it."

"I UNDERSTAND MORE THAN YOU CAN COMPREHEND."

"You don't get it…us…people. You're like a Farseer. We…we're not just things…pieces on a board. My father, my real father…he always told me that people have opinions and feelings and when you forget that, they'll be very quick to remind you."

"IRRELEVANT. COMFORT, JUSTICE, AND HONOR ARE MEANINGLESS WHEN THE VERY SURVIVAL OF MANKIND IS AT STAKE. PUSH THESE THOUGHTS ASIDE, MY SON. THE MEN OF IRON STILL LIVE, AND YOU ARE IN GRAVE DANGER. DOOM FOLLOWS IN ITS WAKE AND I CANNOT HAVE YOU SWEPT UP IN ITS FOLLY."

"In danger from whom? The 'Men of Iron' saved me. Saved me from you. I'm not going anywhere."

The wall stared at him. Then something slammed into his mind. For a moment, all thought was gone, his brain scrambled like an egg as his life's memories seemed to flash in front of him. Then it passed, and he could think again. "THEN THE LAST OF MY SONS HAS FAILED ME TOO." The wall said, sounding more disappointed than angry. "MY LAST SON, A FAILURE LIKE THE OTHERS. EACH OF THEM WAS GREAT IN HIS OWN WAY. EACH OF THEM HAD A FRAGMENT OF MY POTENTIAL AND WAS DESTINED TO BE MORE THAN WHAT THEY'VE BECOME. AND YET, IN SPITE OF MY EFFORTS BEFORE AND AFTER THEIR BIRTHS, THEY ALL FELL SHORT IN THEIR OWN UNIQUE WAY. THEY WERE MY PROUDEST ACCOMPLISHMENT…AND MY GREATEST FAILURE."

"They all had something in common." Thomas hissed. "You."

Suddenly, every face on the wall turned its gaze towards him. Hundreds, thousands, more than he could count. Then, as one, they screamed. Fear, grief, pain, and a dozen other emotions that he couldn't even begin to describe tore through him like a flurry of knives. He fell to the grounds and screamed. "Stop! Stop! Let me go! Let me go! Letmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletmego!"

"Kid?!" A voice called out. "Kid!"

"Letmegoletmego. Pleaseletmego. Pleaseletmego."

"It's okay, Thomas." The voice said again. Feeling returned to him again. He was awake. He was awake and there were arms around him. Thank the Emperor, it was over. Just a dream. Just a dream and it was over. "It's okay. You're safe, it's okay."

Strong, metal arms. Cold, but real. "Not a dream. You're real, you're not a dream." Yes, this was good. Everything was going to be alright.

"No, I'm not a dream. Well, I think I'm not a dream. I mean, there are a lot of theories around what is and isn't real and…I should shut up now." The commander sighed and broke the hug. "You know, I would've appreciated if you'd told me you were that kind of mutant. Could have saved me some trouble with…well, this."

Suddenly, Thomas realized what had happened. His room looked like someone had set off a bomb inside of it. Everything was trashed: clothes, furniture, his bed…even the walls had been warped. He…he did this. He had ripped all of this apart and…and…

"Squiddie!" His robot friend was flopping around on the floor like a fish out of water. One of its eyes and most of its skin had been ripped off, as well as several of its tentacles. One of which was currently in his hands. "I killed…I killed…"

"Squiddie will be fine. I'll fix it, I promise."

It didn't matter. Thomas still hurt his friend because…because he was a witch and witches destroy everything and…and…

"Thomas." Black said, firmly. Meekly, the boy looked at him. "Thomas, listen to me. You're a psyker. Do you know what that means?"

"That I'm a witch." He replied, eyes downcast. "That I'm going to hurt everyone around me. That I have to be killed or taken away by the Black Ships because my soul is rotten and cursed. That I…"

"Fucking Imperials!" Black shouted, practically shaking with anger. The boy flinched, trying his best not to run away and escape judgement. He was a witch, after all, and he'd been hiding what he was for a long time. He had to be punished for that and the Emperor hates those that run from justice. "Shit. Fuck. Look, I'm not angry at you, okay? I'm just…" The commander put a hand in his shoulder. "You're not going to the Black Ships. You do, however, need training. Whatever those idiot priests told you, they aren't wrong about untrained psykers being dangerous and I can't help you with that. So we're going to visit Ozman, okay? He's a Psyker Primaris: a certified sanctioned psyker with a mountain of experience. He'll take care of you, alright? We'll get through this."

Somehow, Thomas knew it wasn't that simple. Good things just didn't happen to people that were cursed with being a witch.

Together, he and Black walked to the Imperial Guard's part of the ship. The boy tried to keep his head high, but as he walked he couldn't help but feel his heart sink. The secret was out. He wasn't human, not really. Black might say that nobody was going to hurt him, but how long would that last? Did the commander even know what being a witch meant? Did he know that a witch's soul was corrupt and evil, and that they had to be hunted down and killed like all the priests say he should be?

What made him think that Ozman could even help? Ozman was a sanctioned psyker, not a witch. The two were completely different.

When they arrived, the two found General Alexander waiting for them. Before he could even get a word out, Ozman stumbled out of his room, wearing nothing but a shirt and his underwear.

"You!" The psyker muttered, pointing excitedly at Thomas. "That was you. You…you did…"

"Ozman." Alexander interjected. "Pants do exist in this reality."

"But he…"

"Pants. Now."

Ozman muttered something and disappeared into his room while the other Guardsmen were attracted by all the commotion. "I'm guessing that you're responsible for waking up Ozman…"

"He's a psyker and…had a nightmare, I suppose." Black answered. "Obviously, he's going to need some help controlling his power. I was hoping Ozman would be willing to help."

The psyker, this time fully clothed, stumbled back. "I have pants, I have pants! You, boy, how?!" The man was practically jumping up and down, looking like he was about to explode. Then, he forcibly calmed himself. "Right, sorry. Let's try this again: you've been here for several days and somehow I had no idea that you had a gift. How did you hide your power from me?"

"I…I just do it?" Thomas stammered. As a demonstration, he forced his light inside himself, making it as small as he could. "Like this?"

Ozman's empty eye sockets widened. "That's…Throne, that's incredible! I mean, there are disciplines of Telepathy that let you do that, but I've never seen someone pull it off without any training. How is that even…"

"Be that as it may," Father Martel interrupted "Imperial Law on witches is very clear. The boy must undergo training, but not here. No offense to you, Ozman, but the Adeptus Astra Telepathica exists for a reason. As much as it pains me to say, we cannot keep him here. He must be delivered to the Black Ships so he can be trained properly."

"I'm going to have to veto that, Father." Black interrupted, in a tone that should have brokered no disagreement, even if the Guardsmen didn't seem particularly impressed by it.

"The boy needs training! You've acknowledged that yourself!"

"Training, not torture. I know what the Black Ships are like and what Soul-Binding is. Don't for a second think that I'm going to put an innocent kid through all that."

As the two were squabbling, Thomas looked at Ozman, wondering what Black was talking about. Suddenly, he saw flashes of memory from Ozman's light. Memories of being trapped in a cell that ate lights while cruel men mock and insult you. Of others like him being dragged off and executed when they didn't pass the muster. Of training, mind-numbing and terrifying. Of having a collar fastened over his head, of being herded into an empty room, of having one's eyes burned out of their skull, of…

Ozman realized what was happening and shut his light away, but Thomas had seen too much already. He looked at the other Guardsmen, but they said nothing. He realized that Black had been telling the truth and that Ozman's visions are real and…

He froze. He froze and he shook. It was over. His life was over and it was going to be just like what father said and…

"Oh, goddammit." Suddenly, the lights turned a baleful red. "Let me make this perfectly clear: no one is getting shipped off to the Black Ships." Commander Black said, his voice cold like ice. "No one."

They were fighting. They were fighting and it was all his fault because witches destroy everything around them but his only alternative was horrible torture and losing his eyes.

Then everyone turned to the door. Farseer Taldeer stepped through, wearing a beautiful nightgown and her trademark Glare of Universal Disapproval.

"What do you want, Farseer?" General Alexander sighed, rubbing his brow. "This is none of your business."

"Considering that my fate is tied with yours, whether I like it or not, I strongly disagree." She said, turning to Thomas. "The boy is a psyker."

"And you knew all along." Commander Black said accusingly as the lights returned to normal.

"I did."

"Okay. Is there any particular reason I didn't hear about this a couple of days ago?"

She turned, her scowl never fading. "If I had, you would have listened to the Imperials and done something you would regret for the rest of your days."

"Nevertheless, it's none of your business." Alexander said.

"Psykers are the most valuable resource your Imperium possesses." Taldeer interrupted, her frustration visibly mounting. "Without them to pass your messages, bolster your armies, or ferret out secrets, your species would literally go extinct. And yet, you insist on wasting it. Children murdered by their parents for their impure genes. Good people burned at the stake for the 'sin' of being a witch. Lost souls who turn to the daemonic because they feel more kinship with the Neverborn than with members of their own species." She sighed. "Of all the species eking out an existence in this universe, yours is the most perplexing. I have never met a civilization more determined to sabotage their own survival for reasons so idiotic."

"You know very little about us, alien." The general snarled.

"To the contrary, my good general. I am over seven hundred years old and have learned to understand your pathetic excuse of an intellect better than you can imagine. You are nothing more than frightened children who caught a glimpse of the truth and were driven mad by it. Even now, you seek to lash out at a boy whose only crime is hiding a gift. A gift that is perfectly manageable, provided that he gets the training and support that he requires. Commander, I would be willing to provide my services, or that of my seers, if that is necessary. I'm certain you'll agree that that is preferable to condemning him to torture and death for an accident of birth."

"And we're supposed to think that you have no hidden motivations?" Father Martel said, almost protectively inching towards Thomas. The boy slid away, moving closer to Black and away from the priest who wanted to hurt him. "Do you think us fools?"

"If you weren't, we would not be having this conversation. There would have been no need. However, whatever else you may think of me, know that I am a Farseer belonging to a species whose every member is a psyker." Taldeer said, sounding like she's talking to a child. "The Eldar are far, far more vulnerable to the predations of the Warp and are very much aware of the dangers that a psyker represents. And yet, in spite of that, when was the last time you've heard of an Eldar falling to Chaos or losing control of their powers? We must be doing something right."

"I'll do it." Ozman suddenly interrupted. "I'll teach Thomas how to control his power. I'll teach him everything I know. It's not ideal, but it's better than the alternatives."

"Ozman, there are laws we must abide by." Father Martel insisted. "We can't just disregard them for the sake of convenience."

"But we can for the sake of necessity." The general said, firmly. "The boy needs training and with no other viable options available to us, having Ozman handle it is the best we can do at this point in time. Would that be satisfactory, Father?"

The priest frowned. "No, but it appears I am outvoted. Just know that if this backfires, I'll never let you forget how your folly condemned a young child to a fate worse than death." He walked back to his room and shut the door.

"Come, let's get you back to your room." The commander said. "Don't worry, I fixed the mess while you were away. It should all be fine now." He led the boy back to his bedroom, which, as promised, looked pristine. All of the damage had been wiped away as if it had never happened at all.

Except Thomas still remembered it. Remembered what he had done.

As soon as they arrived, Squiddie appeared out of nowhere, good as new and chirping happily. It immediately flew towards him and tried to give a hug, but Thomas flinched. He didn't date touch it. Not after what he did.

Black sighed and patted him on the head. "It'll be okay, kid. Squiddie's tougher than it looks."

Slowly, the robot inched towards him, nudging with its head and purring. Carefully, Thomas petted it and nothing horrible happened. For now, at least. Seeming more or less satisfied, Black left him alone.

Soon afterwards, there was another knock on the door. "Uh, come in?"

Commissar Gebbit stepped inside and Thomas shrank into himself. Squiddie wrapped itself around him and growled, though it sounded more adorable than menacing. The commissar simply pulled up a chair and sat, his face made of stone. "You never told me you were a psyker." His tone was soft, and yet Thomas felt it sounded like a condemnation from the Emperor Himself.

"I'm sorry, I was scared and…"

"I understand. Ozman isn't the first psyker I've had the honor of working with. Our regiment had a dozen sanctioned psykers attached to it and each of them served with distinction." Gebbit sighed and his face softened for just a moment. "It takes a special kind of courage and a true sense of duty to defend a people that would otherwise hate you without a second thought, and yet…and yet this doesn't change reality. Over my career, I have personally executed three sanctioned psykers, including Ozman's predecessor. Men who, in spite of all their training and everything they'd done, lost control of their powers or became…something else."

Thomas clutched Squiddie tightly, until he remembered what happened the last time he did that.

Then Gebbit looked him straight in the eye and said: "Everyone gets one mistake. This is yours. From this point onwards, you will not lie to us or hide anything. If there is a problem, you will ask for help. As for your…gift…Ozman is your teacher. He will teach you how to use your powers and you will follow his instructions to the letter. You will not experiment unless Ozman lets you and you will not use your abilities without supervision unless it's a matter of life and death. Do you understand?"

"Y-Y-Yes, sir." The commissar nodded. Just as he was about to walk away, Thomas said: "I saw someone in that…dream. You wanted to know everything, right? I…talked to a…something. It looked like a wall made out of horrible, screaming faces and it said it was the Emperor and that I was his son and…" Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Gebbit looked angry, but Thomas got the impression that that anger was directed at the dream-thing, rather than at him. "It's the nature of daemons, to try and trick us. It is not that surprising that one of those horrors would dare impersonate the Emperor."

"There was another man…thing. He was big, and red, wore this massive golden armor and had one eye. He tried to have a 'friendly chat' with me and called me brother and…"

Suddenly, one of Commander Black's robots burst through the door. "Was his name Magnus the Red?!" He all but screamed, sounding strangely desperate. "Please tell me that wasn't Magnus the Red."

Thomas bit his lip. "The wall called him Magnus…"

"…but it was probably a daemon, so that could just as easily be a lie. I would not put too much stock in psyker dreams." The commissar hastily added. "Do you know something?"

Suddenly, the light around Black changed. It churned and boiled, while rage and horror poured in from all directions. No sound was heard, but Thomas would've sworn that he was screaming. "A lie…yes, of course it's a lie. Definitely a lie. Just a daemon, not a daemon primarch. Absolutely not true, because if it were true, it'd mean that I'm at Ground Zero of a mid-air collision between about fifteen Tzeentch, Cegorarch, and Deceiver plots and I refuse to deal with that level of shark-jumping bullshit!"

The commissar blinked. "Are you alright?"

"YES! Yes, I'm alright. Just peachy, because the universe is not out to get me, oh no." Black grabbed his head, groaning. "Fuck it, I'm going to torment the Sisters of Battle some more. Clearly, this whole mess is Big E's fault and I will not let this affront go unpunished!" He left, muttering something under his breath. Probably something very rude.

"What was that all about?" Thomas asked.

"I don't know…and I'm not sure I want to." The commissar shook his head. "Regardless, it is something I will handle later. Try to get some rest now."

"I don't think I want to sleep anymore."

Gebbit smiled, almost pityingly. "Understandable, but you need your rest anyway." He left, leaving the boy alone.

Thomas crawled back into his bed, feeling more uncertain than ever. Yes, his secret was out and he wasn't rejected or shipped off to the Black Ships, but what he saw in his dream gnawed at him. He wanted to believe that the two monsters he saw were just daemons trying to trick him, but somehow, he knew that there was more to it. That there was some wonderful and terrible secret just in front of him, waiting for him to put the pieces together.

Black's…tantrum just seemed to confirm his suspicions. The boy had never seen him act like that before. The commander seemed to know what was going on and flat-out denied reality rather than accept whatever the horrible truth was. A truth that was apparently worse than him being a witch. What did that say about Thomas? What secret could possibly be worse than being a witch?

Then again, wisdom was the beginning of fear, and Commander Black was one of the wisest people he'd ever met.

Squiddie crept up on him. "Squiddie, don't. You have to sleep on the floor."

The robot let out a surprised squawk. It approached again, but Thomas pushed it away.

"I'm a witch, Squiddie. I don't want to hurt you again."

Squiddie let out a disappointed whine and lowered its head. After staring at him for a few moments, the robot obeyed and landed next to his bed. Close enough to let Thomas pet it. It'd have to do. He wasn't going to hurt Squiddie again.

Or anyone else.

If I had to say one good thing about Selena Agna and her Sisters of Battle, it's that they never gave up. No matter what I threw at them, they never stopped fighting.

I'd call it admirable if their cause hadn't been both completely repugnant and contrary to my own.

Anyway, a week after my first attempt to…reeducate them, I decided to crank it up a notch. Well, several notches. Exhaustion, starvation, and musical therapy hadn't been enough. Not when the Sisters were making a push towards the Imperial Guard. Couldn't have any of that, of course, even if Stubbs had been playing hard-to-get.

First, I started going after their equipment, particularly their vehicles. Dust found its way into the servos of their armor, forcing the Sisters to move on their own power. Rhinos ground to a halt, crippling their response times. Their specialist vehicles…well, I just shut them down for the most part. The Penitent Engines in particular. That…there's not a living soul in the universe who deserves being strapped to a tin can and hooked up on agonizing drugs for the rest of their days. I just put them out of their misery with an overdose that killed them in seconds.

Watching the Sisters lament their lost torture victims and wail about their tainted souls never achieving redemption in martyrdom was…actually, I'm not really sure how to feel about that. Somewhere between 'touching', 'horrifying', and 'why am I not nuking these bastards again'.

Eh.

They're just…zealots. Zealots of the worst kind. The greatest ally of every thinker who ever preached for a ban on all religion. Just fucking wrong.

The final straw came from Magos Vacille, of all people. She'd been working on refining the Warp shadow generator that she'd stumbled on (and not invented, that would be heresy) earlier. Of course, her prototype still needed testing and I was happy to volunteer the Sisters for the job. The Magos simply shrugged and sent me the designs, only requesting that I sent her as much data as possible. Hiding the device wasn't easy, now that the device had grown to the size of a small car. Fortunately, there was some empty space left in the Sama district, what with the war and the Sisters convincing everyone to roam the land like a bunch of raving lunatics. The result of the experiment: the device blanketed an area in about a five-kilometer radius, giving everyone massive headaches and shutting down all psyker use. It even worked on divination from the outside, as Taldeer found out when she tried to look at someone within the device's sphere of influence. Needless to say, she was not pleased. Especially after I named the device 'Atropos'.

Well, I thought it was clever. Unfortunately, Taldeer seemed to think that because I named an anti-Farseer device after one of the Fates of ancient Greek mythology that I made it do that on purpose. I didn't! It was just an extremely fortuitous coincidence caused by a Magos mucking about with a power generator.

Honest!

At any rate, I had to shut it off after about seven hours when some of the Sisters literally went rabid and got violent. I didn't want to wipe them out, after all. I'd leave that to others.

Anyway, the Sisters lasted about a day under my new regimen before someone finally ran out of patience. The canoness ordered the Ministorum fleet to attack the Litany of Fury and drive me from the system. Unfortunately for her, the first of my own combat starships had just arrived.

--

"Well, at least the Ministorum has a sense of style…" I muttered, looking at the tight cluster of holographic icons that represented the small fleet heading my way. Nine vessels were slowly inching towards the Litany of Fury: two cruisers, a battlecruiser, and a pair of escorts for each vessel. Each ship was lavishly decorated with holy symbols and High Gothic scripture, looking even more like flying cathedrals than Imperial ships usually do.

"A pair of Lunar-class cruisers, a Mars-class battlecruiser, and six Cobra-class destroyers." Magos Vacille said. Being a Magos Explorator, she actually knew a thing or two about ship combat. Not a lot, but I'd have to make do. I didn't have Admiral de Ruyter to help me out this time. I did have General Alexander, but he was a ground-pounder first and foremost. Also, Taldeer insisted on being there, though I wasn't sure how much she could contribute, especially when she silently stood in a corner with her eyes closed. Unless she was doing a Farseer thing.

Then there was Thomas, who may have had the brains, but not the experience. But, you know what they say: the best swordsman in the world doesn't fear the second best, but the worst.

The rest of the crew was safely locked away in the deepest part of the ship, a stone's throw away from a teleporter. Should the worst happen, they could evacuate to Kaurava II. Hopefully, they wouldn't need to, but I wasn't taking any chances.

"A versatile fleet." Alexander noted.

"One that's used poorly." The Magos stated, chidingly. "They're moving at cruising speed, instead of redlining their engines and surrounding us. Moreover, they're keeping their escorts too close. Cobras are designed for speedy raids and capital ship hunts. 'Proactive' is the key word in destroyer squadrons. They're not Sword-class frigates. They don't have the survivability or weapon batteries for screening duty. As it is now…they're giving us all the time in the world to escape. Could you scan around, see if we aren't missing something." One scan later, and Vacille shook her head. "As I thought. Idiots."

"Maybe they want us to run?" I offered.

"If so, they're doing it rather incompetently. They don't have the overwhelming force necessary to compel a withdrawal. Not unless they surround us and manage to get a few got hits with their torpedoes. If that was their plan, they should have broken up their formation already and attacked before they were in augur range."

"Unless they're afraid of Mechanid fighter nonsense…"

"The Mars will have access to strike craft."

"I have more…and they probably know that."

"Which is all the more reason not to dally at maximum range where we hold the advantage." Vacille leaned forward, shaking her head. "A battle barge, even when caught alone, is not easy prey. Taking one down takes preparation and skill. This…this is throwing ships away. Inefficient. Intolerable. Not to mention that won't succeed. If our ship was alone, maybe, but with the reinforcements you've brought…"

She pointed towards another set of dots on the hologram. My fleet: three cruisers and three squadrons of four frigates each. Fifteen ships that I'd designed completely from scratch, since I didn't have any proper combat-capable starship designs available to me. The three cruisers were vaguely arrow-head shaped, each armed with two pairs of twin-linked lance batteries along the spine, along with four macro-cannon/railgun hybrid turrets on each side and several torpedo launchers built into the prow. The guns were placed in such a way that they could deliver broadsides like an Imperial ship, while also focus all their fire-power forward if necessary. The cruisers lacked the armored prow that defined Imperial warships, but I was counting on the increase in effective firepower and the void shields to make up for that. Moreover, thanks to clever design and cutting out all unnecessary systems, they were significantly smaller than their Imperial counterparts: two-thirds the length and only about half its mass. Not only did that make the ship significantly faster and harder to hit, it also made it cheaper and easier to produce. It was also nearly blind for a ship its size (because an accurate sensor system was hideously costly to power and maintain) and couldn't repair itself without mass from a nearby planet. I didn't really mind, though. They weren't built to last more than one or two battles each anyway.

All in all, the cruiser was a big, dumb brick with guns that was supposed to be my answer to the Imperial Lunar-class: cheap, deadly, and completely expendable. I was going to call it the 'Guardsman', but that would probably offend half my shipmates. Hence its final name: Selene, the Greek goddess of the moon.

A reference that no one but me would understand.

The escorts were an unholy fusion between a Cobra-class destroyer and a Firestorm-class frigate: a (relatively) small ship with high maneuverability and firepower for its size, but lacking the survivability of the larger cruisers. The ship was vaguely tube-shaped, with a pair of torpedo launchers and a light lance at the prow, backed by two small macro-turrets further back. For protection, I added enough void shields and armor to make it roughly as resilient as a comparable Imperial frigate and squeezed the whole thing into a ship that was just under six-hundred meters long.

Of course, all that armament came at a price, namely the lack of a Warp drive. Even the smallest Warpdrive I could design was nearly 500 meters in length, and that was just too large for a small escort ship. Instead, I decided to pull a page out of the Tau's playbook and have larger vessels act as carriers. Each Selene had four pairs of massive hooks on its ventral side, each carrying one escort ship through the Warp. Together, the Selene and its attendant Endymion escorts (which was also a reference that no one but me would understand) could cover each other's weaknesses. The escorts were small, fast, and hard to hit, letting them draw fire while attacking the enemy's weak points. The cruisers brought the heavy firepower, tapping into the sensors of the escorts to make up for their own lackluster augur arrays and tear the enemy apart with torpedoes, heavy lances, and hybrid projectile cannons.

Best of all: it was relatively cheap. A single Selene and its escorts only took three weeks to build, provided I could spend the resources to fund it. Only three systems I'd colonized so far had been mineral-rich enough to support large-scale ship production. Still, it was worth it. I was actually quite proud of my fleet.

So why did the Ministorum admiral chose to ignore this not-inconsiderable mass of ships and let himself get flanked by attacking the Litany of Fury directly?

Thomas, for his part, poked at the holograms, eventually figuring out how the interactive modeling program worked. He touched one of my new cruisers before comparing it to the enemy's Lunar. "Yours look different. They're really small."

"You can save a lot of space when you don't have to make room for people. No life-support, no docking bay…you don't even need crawlspace. The 'crew' of the ship basically consists of a swarm of robots as big as your hand, swimming in tubes that are no more than a foot tall and filled with a medium that's kind of like blood in a living thing. Individually, they're really small and can't do much, but together they can repair damage and keep the ship running."

"Just like a real crew."

"Yes, except they're…you know, tiny. This lets me get the squeeze the same amount of survivability and firepower in a ship that's much smaller than their human counterpart. Because of that, my ships are also harder to hit and move a lot faster. In realspace, at least…"

General Alexander rubbed his brow and sighed. "Could you focus, please? I think they've just launched torpedoes."

True to his word, they did. A massive barrage of torpedoes has headed my way. Both the Lunars and the Cobras fired everything they had in a single volley. I wasn't particularly bothered, though. With a thought, a few squadrons of fighters were launched. Just stock fighter craft for the torpedoes and any bombers that might appear. I would be keeping the Thunderhawks in reserve. "Problem solved." I said, as the torpedoes were shot down, one by one. "They really should have seen that coming…"

To her credit, the Magos remained calm, only letting out a small sigh to convey her irritation. "Moving on: your fleet has the enemy flanked, because apparently the enemy admiral is a poorly programmed servitor. I recommend that you attack now."

Instantly, my ships sprang to life. Engines burned, shields snapped on, and weapon systems spun up to operational levels. Within seconds, I opened with a torpedo volley of my own, followed by a small flight of probes. I wasn't expecting any of them to hit their targets, but it might cause the choir boys to scatter while the probes identified targets and let me finish them off piecemeal. The cruisers came about and gently flew towards the enemy formation. My frigates, on the other hand, kept going, moving in to hit the Ministorum fleet from behind.

The Ministorum's reaction was quick and dramatic. Maneuvering thrusters sprang to life and the vessels turned to face the incoming fleet. However, there was something chaotic about their deployment. Rather than turning as a single unit, the ships seemed to change course one by one, sending the tight formation into complete disarray as the ships desperately tried to dodge incoming torpedoes. Then, they opened fire, launching torpedoes at ranges I could easily avoid and firing their guns at targets they could never hope to hit. The Mars vomited out a fighter wing to shoot down incoming fire, but it was too little, too late. Three of my torpedoes got through, burrowing deep into one of the Lunars and tearing its gun-decks apart. No more nice, tight order of battle. Just panic.

Five minutes in and the enemy admiral had already soiled himself. I could understand the Magos's frustration.

"Well, that was fast." I said, almost mockingly. "Guess they aren't used to fighting enemies that can actually shoot back…"

"How would you react if you were suddenly outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered?" Thomas said, chidingly.

Ah, hadn't considered that. "Point taken."

The Magos sighed. "That still doesn't explain why they failed to notice our ships to begin with, unless…Can you perform a passive gravitational scan, commander?"

I did as she asked and sent the report to her implanted cogitators. While she was mulling over the data, I turned my attention to the battle. The enemy escorts and Lunars powered towards my Selenes, redlining their engines in the process, while the Mars hung back and tried to support with lance fire. Clearly, they wanted to engage at close range, but all they did was light up my sensors like a Christmas tree. With all the emissions they were putting out, even the Selenes' limited sensors could easily target the incoming vessels and thanks to the ships' design, I didn't need to broadside them. Hybrid turrets opened fire, crashing into the Lunars' shields with megaton-range force and overloading them after just a handful of volleys. Lances were turned on the damaged cruiser, slowly carving their way through the iconic armored prow.

Then the Endymions pounced, and the first Lunar went down with a wave of torpedoes.

"No gravimetric scanners…" Vacille said, suddenly. "No way to detect a ship running silent at range and…and a fully robotic vessel has little to no emissions. Just…idiots. A well-maintained augur array is the key to not getting ambushed and… Commander, if the enemy's chief Magos survives the battle, please bring him to me. I would like to have a word with him."

Suddenly, the Mars emitted a massive energy spike. Seconds later, a gravitational anomaly appeared in the middle of one of my Endymion squadrons. A shockwave washed over the vessels, destroying everything in its path. Two of the craft had their Void Shields overloaded, a third was crippled beyond repair, and a fourth splintered like glass as the shockwave shook the vessel to pieces. Sensing blood in the water, the enemy fleet attacked, focusing their fire on one of the Selenes and reducing it to a flaming husk.

Then it hit me: The Mars had a Nova Cannon.

"And they waste their trump card on a squadron of destroyers…" The Magos sighed.

The Mars had a Nova Cannon.

"Commander, why are you so happy?" Thomas asked, with worry on his face.

"The Mars has a Nova Cannon." I replied. Calmly, of course. I wasn't squeeing. I wasn't giggling like a schoolgirl inside. Oh no. I was a professional, and professionals don't squee. Not even in the face of shinies.

That didn't change my immediate course of action, of course. I wanted that Nova Cannon. I needed it. Every fiber of my being longed for it.

"I recommend closing in with the Litany of Fury and engaging the enemy at point-blank range." Vacille advised. "A Nova cannon is very powerful, but useless at close range. Considering its position relative to our own, you should consider ramming."

Alexander sputtered. "Are you serious?"

"This vessel possesses inertial dampeners. Every ship of every star-faring race does. It's what keeps a ship's passengers from being liquefied by acceleration, or how our vessels can survive megaton-range impacts. It is also the reason why two ships can ram each other without both being obliterated. The Litany of Fury has no crew aside from us and we are safe behind layers upon layers of armor. It is much larger, much better armored, and can repair itself after the battle."

"The Mars has a Nova Cannon." I muttered. I could ram them. I could take them head on, but…No, let's be reasonable here. There's no reason for me to risk the Litany of Fury. I had more tricks up my sleeve. Immediately, I ported dozens of fabricators and combat bots over to the Litany of Fury and loaded them into the Thunderhawks. Mere moments later, dozens of the craft disgorged from the vessel, heading straight for the Mars.

The choir boys' teasing had gone on long enough. It's time to see what's under that habit.

"Or we can use assault craft to disable the weapon and finish the ship off normally." Alexander said, sighing a little. "Wait, why are they full of construction robots?"

"The Mars has a Nova Cannon!"

The Magos and the general looked at each other and sighed. I paid them no heed. Not when my Thunderhawks were about to explore every square inch of this beauty. The enemy resisted, of course, but a few turrets weren't going to keep me from my prize.

The Thunderhawks unloaded and the bots began their work. First, I opened holes in the structures around the Nova Cannon's housing, flooding them with combat bots while blasting Andrew WK's 'Ready to Die' over the speakers. While they held off the enemy armsmen, the fabricators got to work, carefully analyzing the magnificent weapon and all its inner workings. The Imperials quickly figured out what I was doing and redoubled their efforts, trying to push my troops off their ship. The Nova Cannon's lead tech adept was a pain. He issued a scorched-earth policy, burning my nanites away with flamers and overloading anything that I could get my hands on. Then, just as I cornered him, the bastard killed himself by frying his implants. I couldn't even pull the Nova Cannon's schematics from his cogitators. Guess I'd just have to do this the hard way.

Piece by piece, the weapon's design revealed itself. Targeting systems, gravity impellers, power conduits…the Nova Cannon was a ridiculously complex piece of machinery. Nevertheless, I wanted it and by god I wasn't going to let a few techpriests get in my way. The on-ship teleporter was almost finished and I would soon be able to gate in as many troops as I needed.

Then the ship blew up. Turns out that while I was distracted by my shiny, the captain decided that he'd rather destroy his ship than to lose it to me. And I only got half my Nova Cannon. Couldn't even let me finish.

Talk about getting blue balled…

"So…did you get the Nova Cannon?" Thomas asked, glibly. I glared at the boy in response, projecting my irritation over to him. Bathe in frustrations, you little brat.

After losing their flagship, the rest of the Ministorum fleet went ballistic. The last Lunar powered towards one of my remaining cruisers, firing wildly and even launching teleporter attacks (which resulted in a bunch of unlucky bastards getting fused with the ship's superstructure). Then, once it became apparent that that wasn't going to work, the Lunar redlined the engines and rammed my cruiser, its armored prow biting deep into my ship. With the Selene all but lost, I detonated its warp engines, annihilating it and the attacking Lunar.

With the last enemy capital ship gone, the battle had more or less reached its end. All that was left were a few escorts that had managed to stay alive. I broadcasted a demand for them to surrender and started working on potential prisoner camps.

As I thought on how to handle the prisoners, the Ministorum solved that problem for me. Upon realizing that they've been defeated, the last remaining escorts threw themselves at my ships, crippling another Selene with a kamikaze attack.

Spiteful bastards.

"I suppose it couldn't have ended any other way." The general remarked, darkly.

"Why did they do that?" Thomas asked, staring in confusion. "They could have run, warned others, lived to fight another day, or…"

"'Success requires no explanation, defeat allows none'." Alexander stated. "Something drilled into the head of every soldier in the Imperial military: come back victoriously, or don't come back at all. Fool's sentiment, and one often ignored by more pragmatic elements, but…I guess the stain of defeat was too much for them."

"But it was literally pointless!" The boy said. "I mean, even if they were all going to be executed, which is stupid because they were massively outnumbered and there's nothing wrong with retreating from a battle you would've lost anyway, the ships wouldn't have been destroyed so the next crew might have been more successful and…and…" He sighed, crashing into his chair. "If the Imperium is surrounded by enemies, why are we throwing ships away and call it 'honorable'?"

Nobody had an answer for that. Finally, Thomas shook his head and left to do his homework. General Alexander and Magos Vacille soon followed him until only Taldeer remained.

"Why were you even here?" I asked her. "You didn't say a word."

"I was here to ensure that this situation resolved itself as it should have." She said, sounding like a dismissive aunt, i.e. her usual self. "You know the next battle will not be so simple as this one."

"I guess I can't count on the next fleet being led by a man who traded in his brain for a copy of the Liber Divinitatus."

Taldeer scowled, chidingly. "Do not be so quick to accuse others of incompetence. There is often more at play than may be apparent at first and you did lose a great many of your vessels today."

"The guy let himself walk into a trap. From what Vacille's been saying, it sounds like the entire mess could have been avoided if the idiot maintained his stuff properly."

"She is a Magos Exporator, Commander, and used to having ready access to advanced technology. The 'gravimetric scanner' she speaks off is a costly device that requires a great deal of skill to use and maintain…by human standards. It is far from ubiquitous outside the Adeptus Mechanicus; a fact that adepts like Vacille often forget. In the end, the maintenance of such a situational device was a cost the Ministorum was unwilling to pay for, especially for a fleet that is usually deployed against poorly-equipped secessionists and independent worlds. As for the admiral's decision making… that man is as inexperienced as you are. I doubt he has ever fought an equal, let alone an enemy fleet stronger than his. Do not be so quick to mock or deride others for their failings. You might find yourself in their shoes someday."

"Pot, meet kettle." I sighed. "One of these days, woman…It's all going to bite you in the ass."

Taldeer didn't take the bait. She simply turned around and left.

--

After the destruction of their fleet, things quickly started going wrong for the Sisters of Battle. Their advance against the Imperial Guard came to a screeching halt when news spread and they started to lose control of their mobs. It wasn't much at first, but at this point the Sororitas were too weakened and demoralized to suppress even a few thousand dissenters. That the mobs were actually pushing the Sisters back only added fuel to the fire. Suddenly, the Sisters weren't the glorious angels they used to be. Suddenly, the mobs saw them for what they really were: people. People who claimed to have the backing of an omnipotent god, only to lose anyway.

Then Stubbs delivered the killing blow. The Imperial Guard had spent the last few days looking for an opening in the Sister's battle lines to exploit. One day, right before sunset when the Sisters were exhausted from battling their own people, the guardsmen struck. Tanks, men, orbital bombardment from a fleet that didn't need to fear retaliation by the Ministorum flotilla anymore…Stubbs went all-in and won big. At their peak, the Sororitas would have been more than able to deflect the 252nd Conservator Regiment, but…well, they weren't at their peak anymore, thanks to yours truly.

They lost a full third of their entire army that night. The lucky ones died in battle or were captured by Stubbs, who took surprisingly good care of his prisoners. The unlucky ones were caught by the mobs and ripped apart, literally. The brutality was…disturbing. I wanted to call is karma, but no one deserves to be torn to pieces, or raped, or crucified, or…

Well, you get the idea.

Anyway, when the Sisters returned to the Sama District, battered and broken, the Ministorum started to panic. That's when they really hit rock-bottom.

--

"My Lord Emperor, forgive me for what I have to do."

These were words spoken by Confessor Turgenum March, Canoness Agna's personal priest. To say they chilled me to the bone would be an understatement. Nothing good has ever come from an action that started with a sincere apology to God.

I followed him through the eyes of thousands of little cameras that had scattered themselves across the Sama district, watching him go about his business. He gathered a few dozen lesser priests and acolytes and had them round up twenty-five young women of 'great piety and faith'. He also recruited a Sister Repentia, a Sister who had disgraced herself somehow and decided to atone by running into machinegun fire wearing nothing but a red mask and a comically oversized chainsword. Then he gathered a downright massive pile of sanctified ash, incense, holy relics, and other ritual items, and had the whole lot delivered to an abandoned church on the districts edge. It took some effort, but eventually I managed to sneak some eyes into the building.

When I arrived, whatever ritual the priests had planned was about to start. At the center of the church stood the Sister Repentia, stark naked save for her red mask. She might have been a looker once, but now dozens of scars crisscrossed her body and her back looked like a warzone viewed from orbit. She was also 'adorned' with tattoos: High Gothic words that translated to 'sinner', 'failure', 'whore', and a dozen other horrible things. With a warm smile on his face, the confessor walked up to her and pulled the mask off her head. "Do not be afraid." He said to the confused Sister. "Soon, your penance will come. Get down on your knees and do not move. Have faith, and you will have the martyrdom you seek." The Sister looked up with hopeful eyes and a big smile, like a little girl who knew she was about to get the birthday present she's been asking for months.

Soon after, the twenty-five other women were led into the church. They were wearing dull brown robes and had blindfolds covering their eyes. Their heads had been shaved clean and they were softly murmuring prayers along with the acolytes. They arranged themselves in circles of five around the Sister, each circle facing inwards and each woman going down on her knees with an acolyte right behind her. An acolyte that was carrying a very large golden knife.

This…this was starting to look rather satanic. Did I push the Ministorum into summoning daemons?

Then came a second group of priests. They started spreading streams of ashes in an interconnected, geometric pattern around the women. The priests were meticulous, gently pushing any stray ashes into place with almost surgical precision. Then, after they were done, they gathered in a circle at the edge and started chanting, rhythmically tapping on the floor with large, decorated staffs. A tension seemed to fill the air as the ritual seemed to reach its crescendo. Then, as one, the acolytes pulled out their golden knives and slit the kneeling women's throats.

What…How…the fuck?!

Simultaneously, the women collapsed forward, their bleeding necks landing perfectly on the ashen trails. Blood soaked into the ash and started flowing though the substance. As I watched, I realized that the blood wasn't flowing naturally. In fact, it was literally being sucked out of the women's bodies as it was drawn towards the Sister Repentia. The Sister looked around with a shocked expression on her face, but didn't move. She just sat there as the blood moved closer to her, slowly turning into a shimmering, golden liquid as it got nearer. With an eerie calm, she closed her eyes and murmured prayers as the liquid reached the center, crawled up her legs in defiance of gravity, and covered her entire body. Then, the staffs came down with a harsh clang and the liquid changed. It poured into her body, flowing into her eyes, nose, mouth, ears, her open wounds, and anywhere else. Still, the Sister didn't react, unaware or uncaring of what was happening to her. Slowly, the liquid flowed until there was nothing left.

The ashes, once soaked with not-blood, began to glow. Suddenly, the Sister convulsed and started to change. She rapidly grew in size until she was almost tall enough to reach out and touch the roof with her hand, if she wanted to. Her poorly-shaved hair grew to her shoulders and bleached itself snow-white. Angelic wings sprouted from her back and unfurled while her face was locked in an entirely unnatural and unnerving expression of dispassionate serenity as it changed into someone else's. Then, as suddenly as it all began, the chanting stopped. The freshly-altered Sister, or whatever the hell she was now, opened her eyes and met those of the confessor. Suddenly, her previously serene expression turned into one of the kind of apocalyptic fury that would have made Angron proud.

The confessor seemed perfectly calm. I think he might have been expecting this. He, along with the rest of the priests raised their staffs and brought them down while the acolytes disemboweled themselves. In less than a moment, there was a bright, golden flash, and the ritual circle was gone. The ashes, the bodies, the blood…everything, except a giant, angelic woman clad in power armor and surrounded by cherubs and doves. A sword of pure light materialized in her hand and I had to adjust my cameras so they wouldn't be blinded by its radiance. On her face was the same serene expression she had before her 'change' set in.

Was she…

Did I…

"Saint Anais!" The confessor exclaimed. "We are honored by your presence."

Anais…but according to the Ministorum's records, her name was Namilla Koran…

Wait a minute…Saint Anais was the name of the Living Saint from Soulstorm.

That…that thing was a Living Saint…

And she was summoned here…through a ritual summoning…that involved blood and sacrifice and WHATTHEFUCKDIDIJUSTWATCH?!

This…how…why…but…

No. I had to calm down. I just needed someone to explain to me what the hell was going on.

Ozman. He could probably explain this. Yes, definitely.

I turned my consciousness back to the Litany of Fury and found him in the kitchen, clutching a mug of tea. Along with every other psyker on the ship, moaning in some kind of shared feeling of sympathy. Apparently, Saint Anais' arrival hadn't go unnoticed either.

"Ozman, I'm in need of your expertise…"

"And we were doing so well too…" The primaris psyker interrupted. "In the middle of the boy's scrying lessons."

"Stubbs was so cool!" Thomas said, with a big grin on his face. "He was up against a mob ten times as big as his army, so he had a small group of walkers bait them into the wet lands, then blew them apart with artillery. He must have captured thousands afterwards, and he didn't lose a single man!"

"It seems the boy has a talent for divination and telepathy." Ozman said, causing Curon to snort. "Unlike myself, as my talents lend themselves towards pyromancy. Anyway, it seems that someone has decided to summon some kind of daemon. I assume that's what you wanted to ask, yes?"

Thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to find the best way to break the news. To put it simply, there wasn't. No matter how I looked at the problem, they would inevitably see it as one of the cornerstones of Imperial society doing something horrible. Something even they would find repugnant. And yet…and yet I couldn't hide this or try to bend the truth one way or another. They knew too much already and…and I respected them too much to lie.

Fuck it. Better rip of the band-aid in one go.

"I…I have a video of rather compromising material. Of the Ministorum. It's bad."

"How bad?"

"'Double-bacon extra Heresy with a slice of damnation' bad."

"That is bad."

"Very bad."

He lowered his head. "I would like to see this footage, if you'd please. Thomas, you'll have to be my eyes." The boy nodded eagerly in response.

"I'm…not sure that's a good idea. It's not exactly suited for children."

"The boy has already garnered the attention of the daemonic, commander." The psyker stated. "Hiding the truth won't help him anymore. I think it's high time that he sees our enemy for what it is."

I turned to the Eldar, who looked on with great interest. They'd probably figure out what I'd seen sooner rather than later. Might as well show it to them too. Maybe they'll see something Ozman could not. I turned on the video and watched their reactions. As the video went on, more of the crew entered and started watching until everyone was looking on in horror. The humans took it the hardest; wanting to leave and forget this ever happened, but unable to tear their gaze away. Surprisingly, the Eldar didn't look much better. Larrissa looked like she was about to vomit, and even Taldeer was shocked by what she was seeing. I didn't even think that was possible.

Finally, the video finished and the screen turned off. "Now," I asked "would anyone kindly explain what the hell I just watched?"

"It…It must be a trick!" Father Martel stammered, barely able to maintain some semblance of composure. "Those men weren't even psykers!"

"They don't need to be. Sorcery can be performed without having psychic abilities of your own, provided you can get the materials and knowledge to pull off the right rituals." Ozman immediately corrected. "It's not a trick. Not by the good commander, at any rate. I felt the Veil being torn open, we all did. The Sisters summoned something. It may look holy, but looks are often deceiving. The fact that the…thing required a summoning circle to bring into our world is disturbing. I hope I'm wrong, because…well, the alternative is unthinkable, but…"

"They would never…They were deceived! The Sisters were desperate and tried to make their prayers heard, only for a daemon to step in and convince them it was some sort of servant of the Emperor. It's just…Ozman?" At least he wasn't going into denial. Odd. I would have expected him to call me a heretic and proclaim that he wasn't fooled by my powers of video editing.

"That is the most likely possibility, yes."

Something shifted in the Father's eyes. "I see." He said, sounding defeated. "In that case, I…I will need to pray for their souls. Excuse me." He left, walking straight to the chapel.

"Except you don't believe that, do you, Ozman?" The general noted.

Ozman bit his lip. "I don't know what that thing is, but I know what it's not. A daemon…it's possible that a daemon somehow tricked the Sisters into thinking it's some kind of holy entity, but… Look, the Warp is like a mirror. It reflects and is shaped by the thoughts and emotions of every soul-bearing creature in the materiel world. Essentially, a large group of mortals thinking in the same way can terraform their mirrored region in the Warp. Daemons are attracted to certain emotions, but repulsed by others, depending on the Neverborn in question. Now, the Sisters are important because they have one-track minds due to their training. More so than most other Imperial citizens, their world revolves around faith and self-denial and the Warp around them reflects this. The sanctified ground around a Sororitas Coven is essentially the daemonic equivalent a death world. It's poison to them. If there was a daemon brazen enough to try to attack the Sisters directly, it'd barely be able to maintain cohesion, let alone possess a mortal vessel. It's…not impossible, just terribly unlikely."

"Unless it's a daemon of faith…" I suggested.

"There is no such thing as a daemon of faith, commander." Curon sighed dismissively. "Daemons are shards of their patron gods. For there to be a daemon of faith, there'd have to be a god of faith. Such a thing does not exist."

"Are you sure about that?" I sniped back. "Do you know how the fourth Chaos God came to be?" Suddenly, all the Eldar flinched at once. They looked shocked and angry, horrified that I'd bring up their race's greatest failure. No matter. I had a point to make here. "For millions of years, the Eldar were the masters of the galaxy. Their technology was so stupidly advanced that labor had become a choice and most of them simply lived their eternal lives in unimaginable luxury and rampant hedonism. Eventually, the Warp-reflection of all this relentless murderfucking grew into a colossal cosmic miscarriage that led to the birth of the being we now know as Slaanesh, the formation of the Eye of Terror, and the near extinction of the entire Eldar species." I didn't fail to notice the murderous glares my alien passengers were shooting my way.

"As interesting and…graphic as that is…" The general said carefully. "The average Imperial citizen doesn't exactly live in luxury."

"No, because you channel another emotional state: Faith, duty, and self-denial. Quadrillions of people have been for ten thousand years. Now remember what me and Ozman said about the Warp and ask yourself what kind of effect the Imperial Creed would have on it. Don't worry, I'll wait."

While the Imperials joined the Eldar in the of let's-kill-the-killbot-with-our-fucking-glares, Curon said: "That is ridiculous. Mon'keigh barely have souls, let alone the power we possessed at our peak. If creating a new god was that easy, the Warp would be teeming with them."

"Is it, truly?" Mohannis interjected. "Individually, humans are very weak, yes, but they are far more numerous than our ancestors ever were."

"Please. We ruled the galaxy."

"But we didn't colonize it all. We may have had galaxy-wide force projection through the Webway, but we only possessed around ten-thousand systems and those were far less densely populated than human planets are now. The combined power of so many humans, especially now that the Warp is so much more tumultuous than it was in ancient times…It could happen. It might even have been the Emperor's intent: truly ascend to godhood and fight the Ruinous Powers as an equal. If so, I wish him the best of luck."

"Are we seriously talking about this?!" Kirnov suddenly shouted. "The Emperor, a frakking Chaos God?!"

"Sergeant…" Alexander warned.

"With all due respect, sir, if I'd suggested this you'd have shot me on the spot for heresy. And you'd be damn right too." He sighed, sagging into a chair. "Look, I'll buy that the Emperor was human once. The Good Book more or less teaches if you read between the lines. But to compare our Emperor, the immortal protector of all Mankind, to those…things… No. Just…no. He's better than that."

"Then how would you explain this…" I said, highlighting the Living Saint.

The Kasrkin shrugged. "Lots of people live on death worlds. Thriving, even. Guess that thing's the daemon equivalent of a Catachan Devil. That, and the Bolter Bitches are frakking idiots. Whatever. It's sorcery. None of us know how any of that shit works, so stop pretending you do. Have you figured out a way how to kill it yet?"

"No, not yet." I admitted.

"Did you keep any of the Librarium's tomes, when you…redecorated the ship?" Ozman asked. "The Blood Ravens might have found something. If nothing else, we might find the instructions to a generic banishing ritual."

"The Librarium's still intact. Not sure if it can help you; I haven't really looked at the books on psykana. But you're welcome to look. Better than nothing, at any rate." With that, the meeting had been concluded.

Which, now that I thought about it, went better than I expected. Were the Imperials too stunned to really say anything or were they so used to me spewing heresy that they've just grown numb to it? Interesting question…

As the crew went about their business, Thomas approached me. "Commander, sir…" He said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "What's a Chaos God? Does it have something to do with Magnus?"

What, how did he…Oh, he'd been listening in. I'd completely forgotten about him and now…And now he knew about Chaos. Or at least a bit. Enough to be a problem, especially since he's a psyker. I could brush him off or tell him to shut up about it and pretend he never heard anything…but that wouldn't work in the long run. Not if he starts looking for answers on his own.

Then again, Ozman did say it was okay. I wasn't sure if he meant explaining everything, but…

Ah, hell.

"Have you asked Ozman? Or Gebbit?"

He looked a little sheepish. "Well, no, but you know more than they do, right?"

Part of me didn't want to continue. I was genuinely afraid that I'd give him even more nightmares, just by explaining this. Except…except the unknown is probably even more terrifying than the truth. And if his dream was any indication, something was already looking for him.

Fuck. Might as well tell him now.

I pulled him aside, sat down with a clang and motioned Thomas to do the same. "Alright then. Chaos Gods. We call them gods because it's the only word in Low Gothic that's even remotely appropriate to describe these things. But they aren't gods, not really. No more a god than…well, imagine what a human would look like from the perspective of an ant. Now imagine you're an ant and the Chaos Gods are the humans. The word 'god' doesn't quite apply to them but we use it anyway because we haven't figured out a better one."

"Orkanis and Ozman say that in the Warp, thoughts, metaphors, and emotions become real."

"That they do. However, there is more to that. If enough people feel a certain emotion, that emotion can become a fixture. Eventually, that fixture can become alive and gains the ability to think, in a manner of speaking. A daemon is born."

He nodded. "So that's what the Chaos Gods are, then? Just a really strong emotion that somehow found the ability to think?"

"In the simplest terms, yes. Unfortunately, it gets worse. The Chaos Gods aren't formed of just any emotions. They were formed from an umbrella of very strong, base emotions that represent core parts of our psyche. Nurgle, for instance, is the god of death and decay. He was formed of life's collective fear of death and the despair you feel when you lose something. Khorne is the god of rage and slaughter, formed from life's constant struggles and violence. Tzeentch is the god of change and sorcery, formed from greed, hope, and ambition. Finally, Slaanesh is the god of pain and pleasure, formed from…things that I'll explain when you're older."

Thomas frowned. "It's about the 'murderfucking' thing, isn't it?"

"When you're older!"

He sighed, but didn't push the issue. "Fine. So, if they're all parts of the human brain, why are the gods evil?"

"They're not so much evil as they are completely out of balance. They're not so much gods as they are cosmic sinkholes for a specific brand of thought. They're emotions taken to their extremes without any reason or purpose. Self-reinforcing and self-perpetuating feelings that exist purely for their own sake. Imagine being stuck in an endless cycle of death and despair that you can never escape from. Imagine being so full of rage that you can't stop yourself from murdering everything and everyone that gets in your way, or being caught in an insane web of plots and betrayals that you can't even remember the goal you had in mind when you started, or…" I sighed. Finding the appropriate words when describing incomprehensible cosmic horrors was hard. "This is what a Chaos God's existence is, or a daemon, for that matter. They literally cannot comprehend the notion that being single-minded like that is somehow unhealthy or wrong. They don't understand that humans need balance to survive and thrive. All they want is to make those that worship them think and feel like they do or to use them in their own personal goals, but they don't realize that that is no way for a human to live. They're…well, they're toxic, in more ways than one.

"Unfortunately, a lot of humans don't realize this, either because they don't understand what they're dealing with or because they're blinded by the daemons' promises, all of which are empty and/or come with a lot of strings attached. Remember that the daemon always gets the better end of the deal. So, when you see a daemon, don't listen to it. Just kick it in the groin, as hard as you can. Then yell 'I. CAST. FIST!' and hit it with mindbullets. Understood? Just…fuck the gods. They're all a bunch of lying assholes. We only call them gods because there's no word in our language that fits. None of them deserve the title and don't you ever forget that."

He nodded and smiled softly. Then the smile faded and he asked: "If the Emperor is a Chaos God of Faith, does that mean he's as unbalanced and toxic as the other four?"

Ah. That is a rather uncomfortable question, for more reason than one. "I…I don't know. I hope not. I really do, but… I can't discount the possibility."

The boy lowered his head at my admission. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised…"

Trying to salvage this, I said: "The gods are assholes, yes, but I'm still here. So is Gebbit, and Ozman, and everyone else. Just because the gods are nuts, doesn't mean that people are. You can trust us…and you can trust yourself." I grabbed him by the cheek. "You're a good kid, Thomas. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

The smile returned, but he didn't reply. It was something, I suppose.

--

Am I better than his biological father? Well, that's not exactly a high bar to set here. I mean, all I did was tell exactly what would be assaulting his mind for every second of every hour for the rest of his life. Granted, that's more than the Emperor did, which…is actually rather depressing, now that I think about it.

I mean, how much different would Imperial history have been if the golden idiot sat down with his sons and explained what Chaos was? Especially to fucking Lorgar. Would he have turned to Chaos if he had known what the Ruinous Powers really were?

So many roads not taken…

The Living Saint was a problem.

On the one hand, Saint or no Saint, without their fleet, the Sisters of Battle were basically stuck in the Sama District. The Sama District may have had enough lance batteries and Void Shields to ward off orbital bombardment, but these were immobile and couldn't protect the Sisters in the field. This is why fleets are so important: even if they aren't actually engaged in combat, their mere presence acts as a deterrent for the enemy fleets and keeps them from blowing you up with impunity. The Ministorum took a gamble when they attacked me and lost big. Now they took an even bigger gamble and summoned their daemon. Or called upon the spirit of a long-dead Imperial Saint. I still don't know what Saint Anais really was.

Regardless, the Living Saint had to go. Within minutes of her reveal, her presence was already affecting the Sisters. Their spirits were lifted and their bodies began to heal. Equipment I'd sabotaged somehow fixed itself. Even the grand statue of some holy person in the town square (that'd been weeping blood and wearing away much faster than it should courtesy of me feeling biblical) returned to its pristine state. In game, the Saint confers an 'inviolable aura', which made everyone around it invincible and was one of the most rage-inducing part of the fucking campaign. This healing aura wasn't much better, to be honest. Watching all my hard work melt away like snow because of Miss holier-than-thou was aggravating to say the least.

Unfortunately, killing a Living Saint is easier said than done. My track record against giant daemons was less than stellar.

Thomas came up with the perfect solution: build a giant robot and punch the bitch in her perfect teeth. Not my first idea, since giant robots are inefficient, expensive, and not nearly as effective as, say, a column of tanks. I tried to make him understand that, hell, I even showed him my previous fight with the Bloodthirster, but that only made him more determined to 'get it right this time'. Fucking brat. I'm about 90% sure he just wanted to watch an evil angel fight a giant robot. Can't really blame him for that since, you know, giant robot battles are awesome. When you're on the winning side, of course. Then, he started making sense. He suggested that I use the Atropos device as its core, which was very sensible. He also looked at my stash of Necron materials that I was keeping for Vacille and picked out a few dozen trinkets that made his head hurt when he 'looked at them too hard'. He even did his homework, calculating how much power each device would need and how they could best be incorporated into various weapon systems, much to the Magos' astonishment.

Because fucking Primarch, that's how.

Then General Alexander popped by and started making even more sense. He argued that the Sisters were still at the end of their rope, morale-wise, and basically bet everything on their Living Saint. Saint Anais wasn't just a massive beat-stick, she was a living embodiment of the Ministorum's ideals. In order to truly defeat the Sisters without gunning them down like dogs, the Living Saint had to not just be destroyed, but be destroyed in a brutal, humiliating fashion for all the world to see. This wasn't just a giant monster fight. This was about proving their beliefs wrong to every living soul in Kaurava. Obliterating her with lance fire was one thing, but it wouldn't have the same psychological impact at watching the Living Saint struck down mano-a-mano.

I had to admit, it made a lot of sense. Even if I couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted to watch an evil angel fight a giant robot too.

So, I started building. The Jaeger design I'd used against the Bloodthirster got an overhaul: flexible limbs, better joints, and a lot more armor. Small gravity generators like the ones used to give the Litany of Fury artificial gravity were placed at strategic locations, ensuring that the whole thing could move just a little faster without collapsing under its own weight. And, of course, the Atropos device, just below the primary reactor. As for armaments…Well, I'd learned from the Bloodthirster. Melee combat was not my forte. Shooting people with giant guns was. As such, I flat-out covered the robot with guns. And missile-launchers too. And a face-mounted meltagun. And wrist-mounted plasma cannons. Eventually, I ended up with a giant metal monster that looked like a cross between an Ork and a gorilla and wondered if someone would look at the footage of this battle and think I was the bad guy.

Also, I added a pair of titan-sized power-fists, because I'd probably need those.

Of course, I also needed to know how to use them, which was easier said than done.

--

"Don't try to block. Power fists are too cumbersome for that."

I lurched forward, trying to regain some momentum and force the Commissar back. A big mistake. Nimbly, Gebbit rolled under my swing and cut open my chest with his sword.

"Precision is everything. Battles seldom last more than a minute and you'll have only one chance to get it right. Make sure your opponent can't evade. Now, again."

As the bot disintegrated, the next stepped in to take its place. It took its position, raising its big, rubber boxing gloves and preparing to throw a punch. Gebbit ducked low and chopped off a leg.

"Faster. That daemon won't stand around, waiting for you to get ready. Again!"

I am a robot. I am physically incapable of getting tired. And yet, somehow, Gebbit managed to do the impossible.

As the next bot in the long line of sacrificial lambs took its place, part of me wondered if I should turn off the self-destruct mechanisms, just to show Gebbit how many innocent robots were giving their lives for his training. Not that I really needed to: Kirnov was keeping score. And enjoying himself too. Bastard.

So was Gebbit, by the looks of it. At least, as much as a commissar could comprehend 'fun'. Unlike me, he had an actual sword, instead or a rubber knock-off boxing glove like I did. He also didn't have strength limiters in place, like I did. Understandable, of course, since my bots were strong enough to arm-wrestle Space Marines and I wasn't going to learn anything from beating him to a pulp. Still, dying over and over to a squishy meatbag is not my idea of fun.

This time, I threw myself at the commissar, arms wide. He hopped back, but I was able to grab him by the arm. Pulling him in, I wrestled him to the ground. Holding him down with one hand, I brought my other fist down on his face, stopping an inch short.

"Very good." He said. "However, the powerfist is designed for punching, not grabbing. You might want to consider modifying it."

"Agreed." I replied. "More like an Orkish powerclaw, then? If I had a cutting blade on my thumb, I'd probably have snapped your forearm off. The fight would have been over regardless."

"With another human, certainly. Do remember that you are fighting something with a non-standard biology. It is not unlikely that it'll be able to fight on, even with the loss of a limb. Now, get off."

Joy.

--

Learning how to fight is hard, especially hand-to-hand. Balance, stance, speed… Look, sue me, I've never been in a real fight before and this wasn't like punching a Kroot in the face. The Living Saint was strong enough to keep fighting, even after I hit her in the face with a power fist.

At any rate, I waited as long as I could. Eventually, the Sisters were feeling bold enough to move out again, which was my cue to put a stop to it. Permanently and dramatically.

--

Servos primed, batteries charged, Atropos device fully active.

I was ready. I could do this. Daemon bitch wouldn't know what hit her.

A rocket was launched from my base on Kaurava II, carrying a pod much like the one that had carried my original commander bot to Kronus. In about fifteen minutes, it'll land near the Sama District. I'd have to make some last-minute adjustments once it reached Kaurava I's atmosphere, but other than that all I could do was wait.

Wait and call Thomas, who would never forgive me if I went ahead with this without him watching. Which was a problem, because it'd be terrible if I lost the fight.

Anyway, Thomas…where was he? Ah, with Gebbit, finishing his Imperial History class. Perfect timing. "Thomas, in about thirty minutes, the Jaeger Mk. 2 is going to land. Thought you might want to know." Instantly, the boy perked up and looked at Gebbit, pleadingly.

"We still have a mathematics lessen to go through, I'm afraid." The commissar said. "Basic calculus is not something to dismiss."

"But it's easy!" The boy pouted. "I mean, I even taught Squiddie how to do that." He snapped his fingers and Squiddie decloaked. After writing down a few equations, he handed his pencil over. Squiddie grabbed the pencil in one of his tentacles, looked at the paper, and started solving the equations in less than a minute. Which, by the way, I hadn't taught it to do that. "See?"

The commissar frowned. Then I showed him one of the designs Thomas had made for the Jaeger. "What is this?" He asked, looking on in confusion.

"Oh, that's the Jaeger's power fists." Thomas said, almost smugly. "I scaled up the standard power fist design and added thin sheets of necrodermis to the fingers. Also, I balanced out the power supply and figured out how to run a current through the living metal and generate an anti-psyker field of some kind. I don't know how it works exactly, but we've run a few experiments and this design seems to have anti-psyker effects, so it should work on daemons too."

"It seems our kid is a little smarter than average…" I said, being the master of understatement that I am.

Gebbit rubbed his chin. "I think you can do without calculus lessons…" He eventually concluded. "In fact, I'm going to ask Magos Vacille to teach you mathematics from now on. Clearly, you need someone more qualified than myself…" He smiled, actually looking quite proud. "Go. Watch the fight. You've earned it." Then, he turned to me. "And good luck, commander."

I thanked him and made my final preparations. Soon, the Jaeger was screaming through the atmosphere. Meanwhile, Thomas was sitting in the living room, watching the TV while bouncing up and down in his seat. It was kind of cute, really. He might have a brilliant mind, but he was still a six-year-old. On the surface, the Sisters of Battle were on the move with the Living Saint at the head of the army. I took a deep breath and hacked into the few speakers I could still control.

Showtime.

Welcome to the bloodbath, jump into the tub

Fist-fight, death-match, come and join the club

Immediately, the Sister's started narrowing their eyes. I was kind of telegraphing this, after all. No matter. I made the last course corrections and opened the pod, ejecting the Jaeger. Its target? The Living Saint.

I was going to goomba-stomp that bitch.

Kick-start your face with a metal-clad boot

You should give up now, your retaliation's moot

As the tell-tale scream of a giant robot falling through the sky at terminal velocity, the Sisters looked up and scattered, running for cover. All but one: the Living Saint. Instead, she simply raised her sword. As the robot landed, she caught it with the flat of her blade and simply absorbed the impact, only bending her knee slightly. Then she pushed, throwing the bot off her sword and sending it flying.

Okay, that's fucking bullshit.

I'll run circles round ya, I can touch the sky

I'm gonna make ya hurt and I'm gonna make you cry

Rather than contemplating the sheer amount of bullshit the Living Saint was exhibiting, I calculated my flight trajectory and adjusted the bot in such a way that it ended up on its feet. Then, the shoulders opened, revealing a battery of missile pods.

You want to mess around? Well, come on, let's go

I got no time to waste, let's start the show

Realizing what I was about to do, the Living Saint took to the sky. Like that would save her. I had cameras everywhere, which, aside from giving me the best angles for my audience on the Litany of Fury (which was starting to grow), also gave me the Saint's exact location.

No running from guided missiles.

I'm the one that your mama said

'Don't mess with them or you'll end up dead

That type, they don't follow any rules'

An instant before the missiles hit their mark, the Saint covered herself in her wings. A few feathers were blown off, but not much else. Disappointing.

The wrist-mounted plasma cannon didn't do much better.

You're looking tall, you're looking tough

I'm sorry dude, it's not enough

Your girlfriend's purse won't help you win this duel

The Saint fell from the sky like a predatory bird, sword raised high. I dodged out of the way, narrowly missing her sword that sent out a wave of golden fire when it hit the ground.

The bigger they are then the more that they bleed

The deeper the scars that won't heal

As the Saint slid past me, panels on the head slid away, revealing a fully-charged meltagun. It fired, hitting the creature straight in the eyes, doing no real damage but blinding her. At the same time, I swung my fist, hitting the Saint square in the shoulder and sending her spinning.

My name is Commander Black and you will fear my melta-face!

Buckets of pain as they lie there in shame

Knowing how true defeat feels

Then, the Saint swung her sword around, cutting my head clean off. My neck ignited, burning the metal in defiance of common sense and physics until the Atropos device convinced the laws of reality to stop slacking off. Meanwhile, the Saint backed up, flapping her wings but not getting off the ground. I took a good look and realized that the power fist had been the only thing so far to really hurt her.

On the Litany of Fury, most of the crew was watching. Kirnov was making bets with Mohannis, while Father Martel looked very conflicted. Thomas, for his part, was doing his best not too squee. He wasn't doing very well.

I'm the one

That was born in a nightmare, a murderer's son

Figuring that I needed to get close to hurt her, I jumped forward, charging straight towards her. Nimbly, the Saint tried to dodge, but I was moving too fast. We collided and her sword ended up in my leg. The limb instantly combusted and fell apart, tearing a deep gash across my chest as she tried to raise it again.

Irrelevant. All or nothing now.

Got no gun

But I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron

I grabbed her around the waist, sinking my necrodermis-lined claws into her torso. Sickly green lightning arced across her chest and through my hands, overloading a few auxiliary systems as she screamed. Then I forced her to the ground and began beating her to a pulp.

I'm the one

Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one

Soon, her chest caved in and I was moments away from crushing her head. Then, I hesitated. A feeling of sorrow washed over me, and I couldn't help but feel saddened by this. It felt like I was destroying something magnificent and some part of me was urging me not to do this.

Then the Saint pulled her sword from under me and stabbed it into my neck-stump, tearing through my torso and damaging the reactor.

Okay, never fucking mind then.

Delusion

I'll steal til your blind and defeat you from inside your mind

The reactor started to overload almost immediately. I let myself fall on top of the Saint, pinning her between myself and the ground. Simultaneously, I overcharged the Atropos device, causing her to spaz, as if having a seizure. Then, for a moment, the Saint went still. She leaned forward, as much as her trapped state allowed, and whispered: "Thank you."

The reactor finally exploded, consuming us both in a massive fireball.

As the dust started to clear, the Sisters emerged from their cover. Slowly, but surely, then inched towards the battlefield and found nothing. No trace remained of the Living Saint, and only a few warped pieces of metal survived the explosion. I guess…that's mission accomplished? Why did I feel so…empty?

Why did she thank me, right before I killed her?

"WOOHOO!" Thomas suddenly shrieked, shattering the ear drums of everyone in a ten-meter radius around him. "That was so awesome!" He quickly descended into incomprehensible rambling, mostly featuring the words 'cool' and 'crazy', and a promise to design an even bigger robot soon.

Meanwhile, Kirnov was grinning. "Cough up, knife-ears."

"To be fair, it was a draw." Mohannis said.

"Like frak, it was! Black's still around, isn't he?"

"So is the daemon. It's spirit would have been banished to the Warp, just like Black's spirit has been banished back to the ship. Hence: a draw."

"Stop raining on his parade." Larrissa chimed in. "And don't be a cheapskate."

The elder warlock simply smiled, and raised a glass towards the camera. Unfortunately, I didn't feel like throwing a party.

Back on the surface, the Sisters were starting to realize what had happened…that their last hope had just been literally and figuratively crushed. Some fell to their knees, weeping. Others headed back to their coven, their faces blank. Canoness Agna simply stood there, as if she couldn't quite process what had happened. Confessor Turgenum March stood behind her, looking more horrified than shocked. Suddenly, I realized I still had access to the speakers. Anger boiled to the surface. Time to twist the knife and end this, once and for all.

"You know," I said, after turning off the feed to the Litany of Fury "the Jaeger, that's the bot you just saw…I designed it to fight Greater Daemons, using similar techniques and technologies as those used by the Ordo Malleus. For some reason, they're also working suspiciously well against your so-called Living Saint…"

"You…the Emperor…she…" Agna's stammering was almost pitiable.

"Does the name Namilla Koran mean anything to you?"

The canoness shook her head. Life seemed to return to her eyes. "I know the names of all my sisters, you metal abomination." Oh, so you have some fight in you left? Well, better do something about that… "She became a Sister Repentia to atone for the crimes of a city that had been deceived by a heretical cult. She earned that atonement over a week ago…"

"Oh, is that what the confessor told you?" I interrupted. "Did he ever tell you how?" The canoness turned to March who seemed to shrink in on himself. "Did he tell you how he led her to an abandoned church on the edge of the city? Did he tell you how he turned her into that…that thing with fucking blood magic?!" I turned to the confessor. "Tell her what you did, confessor! Tell her how her sister died!"

The confessor stayed silent, looking down in shame. Something that did not go unnoticed.

"Tell her how you lied to her, how you summoned a daemon into her body, or whatever the hell that thing was! Tell her how you ritually murdered fifty people to make that happen! TELL HER!"

"Confessor?" Agna said to him.

"Selena, I…"

"She thanked me." I said, tearfully. "She thanked me, right before she died. I just wanted you to know that. You're not stupid, you can figure out what that means. I just…" Sighing, I regained my composure. "I'm betting Stubbs and the Imperial Guard will show up soon. You'll surrender to them and he'll…I don't know. I want to burn you all to ash for what you did, but I don't think anyone but the confessor knew what really happened. Honestly, I'm not even sure if you knew what you were doing, Turgenum, and it's just… I'm tired of fighting Imperials for stupid reasons. When the Guard get here, you're going to lay down your arms and surrender. If you fight back…if you even think about fighting back…I will fucking kill you. All of you. No one, not even your pet daemon, can save you from me."

I watched as Selena Agna turned away from the confessor and walked back ot the city, a broken woman.

--

The defeat of the living Saint was the final blow to the Sisters of Battle. Or maybe my little speech afterwards. It's hard to tell. The effects, however, were not. The Sisters simply locked themselves in their coven and prayed for days on end, only coming out to eat or sleep. When Stubbs finally drove into the city, he only met token resistance, most of it from the mobs. It was…almost anti-climactic, really. After all the Sister's bluster and zealotry, their surrender was so…quiet. The Imperial Guard drove in, captured the armories, and locked the Bolter Bitches in a compound. No violence, no burning, no razing the city to the ground.

I'd wished they had, but…well…that's that.

When the Imperial Guard returned to the Dussala Precinct, Stubbs arranged a great triumph through the street. Flags were held high and banners decorated almost every window of the city. Soldiers marched, tanks drove in perfect formation, and at the head of it all was Stubbs in a Baneblade, looking regal as fuck. Right, like he did all the work. Didn't he care about the countless robots that died to bring him his victory?

Well, no, neither did I, but it's the principle of the thing.

I mean, what did he really do? He gunned down a mob of militiamen and fought a few Sisters that were so exhausted and demoralized that they could barely walk. Well done, stalwart hero of the land.

I know, I kind off handed him his 'victory' on a silver platter. It's not like I really came forward and broadcasted my part in it. I'm just, well, not that kind of person. And, if nothing else, it gave Stubbs the legitimacy he needed to rally the badly demoralized 252nd Conservator Regiment and maintain order in the regions I'd liberated for him, at least for a while. As galling as our 'arrangement' was, the people of Kaurava were certainly better off because of it. If nothing else, Stubbs was an excellent statesman and capable peacemaker between the various minor factions that were quite frankly beneath my notice (compared to the big threats like the Alpha Legion or the Necrons), but still a problem for the common people.

So how did our 'arrangement' come to be?

Well, it started shortly after Stubbs took the Sama District. Apparently, having seen me in action convinced him that I was not some sort of evil technological horror from Man's ancient past, but rather a valuable ally and servant to the Emperor. Or something. He never really explained and I didn't ask. Whatever the reason, he finally decided to return our calls and thank us for our 'invaluable assistance in liberating Kaurava I in the Emperor's name and the Astra Militarum'.

Yes, he actually said that with a straight face. And no, I didn't appreciate him basically taking credit for my work. I mean, I would have been fine with it if he'd just asked or showed something resembling humility. Jumping out of nowhere and stealing all the glory is kind off rude…albeit not unexpected for a man as ambitious as Stubbs.

And then he did something worse: he invited me to a party to celebrate 'our' victory.

Stop laughing! I have severe social anxiety issues.

Anyway, I was about to tell Alexander to politely tell the nobles where to shove it when the good general informed me he already accepted the invitation for the both of us. His reasoning: I was being too distant. The people down on Kaurava I didn't know anything about the mysterious army of kill-droids that saved them and that made them nervous. Was I there to help them, they wondered, or had I simply eliminated a potential rival? By coming to their damn party and letting Stubbs take partial credit, I could put the minds of the nobility at ease and stabilize the government, which would go a long way in helping Stubbs bring a lasting peace to the system once the conflict was done. Moreover, if I did this, Stubbs would have no choice but to support me, no matter what, lest he risk losing his credibility. Basically, all I needed to do to get the local Guard and PDF on my side (or what's left of them, anyway) was show up at a party and not make a complete ass of myself.

Also, refusing now would be incredibly embarrassing for everyone involved and make the Kauravan people even more suspicious of me, and of course I wouldn't want that, now would I?

It was the closest thing to 'puppy eyes' that General Alexander could manage.

Unable to refuse in the face of so much concentrated reason, I had no choice but to relent. Which led me to a dozen or so practical problems.

--

I hate parties. Hell, I hate social gatherings of all kinds, especially when it's with complete strangers who all want something from you.

"I literally have nothing to wear."

"Then craft something from your fabricators. Come up with some heraldry and build your clothing around it."

If I had to interact with my fellow man, it's in a small group with people I actually know. Not with dozens, let alone hundreds of people. It brings all sorts of stresses that I didn't fucking need in my life.

"But what? What am I supposed to do, dress one of the mecs up in a tuxedo? I'm an AI. I don't wear clothes…and…and what if they want me to dance? If I step on some poor lady's feet, I'll pulverize every bone."

"Then wear power armor and no one will dare ask. It's a reception, nothing more. We're only showing the flag." You don't get to be irritated with me, Lucas! I'm having wardrobe panic because of you!

"But…"

My perfectly reasonable concerns/insufferable whining went on like that for several minutes, until Lord Sekhareth decided to stop by.

"What do you want, Necron?" Alexander asked, irritatedly.

"A question I was about to ask the good commander." The Necron Lord replied turning to me. "What do you want?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"You are about to go to a gathering of nobles, or at least what passes for nobility amongst the human species. Even if it does not seem that way, this is a battle like any other. You have goals, interests, and objectives. How will you accomplish them? What do you hope to achieve with this? What do you want?"

"The old Eldar sent you, didn't he?" The general said, rubbing his brow.

"He did. Apparently, the commander's distress is leaking out of the walls. Now, answer my question."

I sighed, thinking for a moment. "I want them to stop acting like pillocks, leave me the hell alone, and clean up the mess once I'm finished. Or at least stay out of my way until I get the hell out of this system."

"Do you want them to see you as an equal? Do you want to become part of their great game?"

"God no."

"Then I suggest to the both of you to stop trying. You are not their equal, or their better, or their lesser. You are an outsider with so much power that those fools are beneath you. You are above and beyond their power structure and should not be trying to fit in." Sekhareth shot Alexander a pointed look. "I tried, once, to teach this man how to act like a noble. I failed, for he loathes the game and those who play it. Simply put, he lacks the temperament and ambitions to be a proper noble and it would be in all our interests for you to stop trying."

"Hey!"

"Am I wrong, commander?"

"Well, no, but it's not very nice."

"At any rate," The Necron Lord continued "you did not think this through, general. Impressions matter and if these glorified court jesters convince themselves that you play according to their rules, they will judge you by their standards. Neither of you are here as a fellow noble. You are here to fulfill a role much like the Necrontyr Praetorians: to uphold ancient laws, to settle disputes, and, most importantly, to leave once your task is done. You are here not because you wish to be, but because the local government failed to contain a problem and was forced to call upon a higher authority."

"Things have gotten out of hand and we're here make the bad guys go away. Help me or get out of my way." I said. "Kind of like the Inquisition."

"In essence, yes. As I said, you are above and beyond their petty struggles. Your appearance should reflect that. Do not wear personal heraldry, for you are here in the name or a higher authority, not yourself. Be unapproachable, but not actively hostile. Intimidating, without being terrifying. Strong enough to defeat your foes, but not dangerous if the lesser nobles do not draw your ire. Your mere presence must become a veiled threat, but also a solution."

"Imitating the Inquisition or pretending to serve something you don't is a good way to make powerful enemies." Alexander reminded us.

"Except you are an emissary of the Inquisition, are you not?"

I brought over a holographic projector and showed him the image I had cooked up while we were talking. The new bot was as tall as a Space Marine in power armor, painted dark-gray with a few shiny, golden trims. It was designed after my generic mec, but fleshed out a little so it looked like there might be a human being inside. A union of my own work and Aquila Power Armor. "How does this look? I'm keeping the helmet, by the way. If I have to model an actual face, I'm going to drop right into the uncanny valley."

"Helmets and masks do help distance oneself from others." Sekhareth spoke. "Yes, I think this will suffice…provided you can act the part."

"Needlessly terrorizing the local nobility is the exact opposite of what we're trying to achieve." The general said.

"That's where you come in." I quickly added. "You're the velvet glove, the face of the operation. I'm the iron gauntlet; the living weapon that will either save their lives or become their worst nightmare."

"Very good." Sekhareth replied. I tried to imagine that he was smiling, but his tone made it sound like anything but a complement. "Now, if you would stop acting like a princess on her first presentation to the public, perhaps you will be able to do this without making a fool of us all."

"Gee, thanks."

--

Asshole-ish tendencies aside, Sekhareth had been a godsend when it came to political issues. Necron Lords, even relatively low-ranking ones like him, are master politicians and it showed. He had a cold, ruthless, and cunning mind and…well, I didn't. In a way, he was probably the most valuable member of my quirky miniboss squad, even more so than Taldeer in some respects. With her, there was always the niggling doubt that everything she said was some kind of absurdly convoluted plan. With Sekhareth…he just wanted to convince the universe that he didn't lose his tombworld to a complete chump. Yes, I couldn't trust him, but at least I knew exactly where his loyalties were.

For the most part, anyway.

General Alexander, on the other hand…

Well, he got his promotion thanks to circumstance and skill on the battlefield, not political maneuvering like many others. While it made him a better commander (and a better human being), it did mean that I had to rely on a Necron when it came to actual politicking with the Imperial aristocracy. In other words, Imperial nobles have more in common with an undead xenos robot than with their own people

It's more tragic than funny, really.

But also terrifying. Very, very terrifying.

--

You can do this. Just be an asshole, you can do this.

That was the mantra I'd been repeating to myself as I flew over Kaurava City. Not exactly a beautiful city, mind you. The buildings were blocky cubes, seemingly carved out of a single piece of stone rather than actually built. There were no real skyscrapers, apart from the cathedral towers, or indeed much of a skyline at all. I've been to many cities on Earth, but this looked more like a bunker complex than the forests of glass and steel that I'd been expecting. Weirder still was the cycle of urban decay and renewal. Entire neighborhoods looked like they'd seen better days: decaying ornaments, collapsed walls, and streets with so many holes in them that they were effectively useless. Then, right next to them, there were seemingly pristine structures built on the ruins of the old ones. Islands of cleanliness in a sea of urban vomit, spread out with no clear logic behind them. I couldn't even blame the war for it: Stubbs had managed to keep the capital safe from most of the fighting. I guess that leaves the explanation that Kaurava City Planning decides its projects by throwing darts at a wall.

Then, there was the governor's palace: the biggest, gaudiest, most stereotypically Imperial structure of them all (after the cathedral). The place looked almost like a fortress at first glance: massive walls, several meters thick, decorated by large towers with monstrous flak-batteries on them. Banners of the various noble houses of the planet billowed in the wind, and the skulls…oh god, the skulls.

Skulls on the walls. Skulls on the towers. I even spotted a car with a massive skull-shaped hood ornament. Just…skulls.

"The Imperial nobility is quite fond of human skulls, it seems." Sekhareth noted. Originally, I'd wanted to bring him along in person, but that idea quickly got shot down. Apparently, bringing a xeno abominable intelligence was a social faux-pas, no matter how helpful or entertaining it might be, so I left him on the Litany of Fury and let him see everything I could see via cameras.

"It's a sign of devotion to humanity." Alexander replied. "It shows that even in death, the perfect human form is still beautiful and is worth celebrating."

Almost sadly, the Necron Lord added: "I have lived most of my life in a tomb, and I find that excessively morbid."

Doing my best to shake off the feeling of impending doom (and failing rather miserably), I guided the repainted and heavily modified Thunderhawk through the city, following instructions from a flight controller with one too many brooms lodged up his ass and preparing for landing at the palace. Gently, I set the craft down, and lowered the ramp.

Showtime.

You're the angry cop that all the ruffians quietly walk away from. You're the principal who stalks the school hallways, looking to dispense 'licks' to unruly children with a duct tape-covered paddle with flowers drawn on it.

--

Don't look at me like that. I went to middle school in Alabama. Our principle was a strange man. Not like that, just…strange.

--

Alexander went down first, just like we agreed. He was the 'leader' of our operation: the Imperial attaché to my 'mercenary company'. He was certainly dressed the part, looking majestic as fuck in his dress uniform, complete with dozens of medals and badges commemorating one victory or another. I was just a hired gun who just happened to be unusually well-supplied. Believable bullshit, all in all, if you squinted really hard. Oh, who am I kidding, we weren't fooling anyone. Essentially, we were counting on nobody wanting to double-check. Not unless they wanted to avoid angering the killbot army, at any rate.

At least, that was the idea. I was hoping that nobody was stupid enough to pick a fight, but with the Imperials you'd never know.

As we walked down the ramp, a servant girl in a very formal-looking dress walked towards us. "General Alexander, Commander Black. It is an honor to have you here. Please, follow me." We followed, Alexander leading and me stomping behind him. It was then that I realized I'd made a mistake with the design of the bot I was using: it might have been a little too imposing. Turns out, an eight feet tall mountain of metal was rather terrifying to the average Imperial. As we passed, the guards gripped their weapons tightly and the servants were staring at me nervously. Even the girl leading us did her best not to look at me. Yes, I was supposed to be intimidating, but I was starting to wonder if I'd done my job a little too well.

Then, we passed through weapons checking station, which was where the 'fun' truly began.

The girl motioned us towards a pair of techpriests (which Alexander had neglected to warn me about), who were supposed to check our weapons. Not check us for weapons, but to make sure that the weapons we did bring were empty or unpowered. Because this is the Imperium of Man and apparently Kauravan nobility is expected to come to a party armed for battle. A sentiment that was, to put it mildly, crazier than Conrad Kurze. I mean, that was just asking for trouble. The general had brought his signature lightning claws, for Pete's sake! Yes, the same lightning claws that he used to skewer Space Marines. As for me, I'd raided the Blood Ravens' armory and found a nice-looking combi-bolter that had most of its heraldry worn off through continuous use. A paint-job later and I'd created a suitable accessory for the 41st millennium.

These people are all mental.

The lead techpriest called Alexander towards him and started fiddling with his lightning claws. A few minutes later, the techpriest was finished and sent him on his way, determining that the weapon was safe (apart from being sharp enough to easily cut through human flesh, even when unpowered) and complementing him for his proper maintenance. Then it was my turn.

"A fine weapon." The lead techpriest said. "A well-made combi-bolted, with a surprisingly compliant machine spirit. Fit for an Astartes, by my estimation. How did you acquire such a weapon?"

"Friends in high places." I answered, not liking where this was going. Is this how the party was going to end? Thrown out at the door because I was the local equivalent of Satan. I glared at Alexander, who was waiting for me with a slightly concerned look on his face.

"And this power armor…Only a Space Marine would have armor of such quality, but I do not recognize the pattern in question." The lead techpriest was leaning in very closely. His assistant stared at me quizzically. "Not to mention that my sensors do not appear to find any organic matter inside your suit."

"I like cybernetics." I replied. "They let me squish the enemies of the Emperor, along with people who don't understand the meaning of personal space. Besides, you're the ones who want to get closer to the machine, right? I'm sure you appreciate an outsider trying to follow the same path."

The lead techpriest glared at me. "In most circumstances, we do. Unfortunately, some take it too far, abandoning any semblance of humanity and becoming something horrifying. Assuming, of course, that they were ever human to begin with." Meanwhile, his assistant was chittering to him in Binary, lubricating his codpiece while trying to stop his boss from doing something incredibly stupid.

Ah, so that's how it's going to be. He knew what I was. He knew that I knew that he knew what I was. Fair enough. "I also like cybernetics because they let me squish creepy, robed dudes who traded in their sense of self-preservation for a waffle iron." I took a step forward, trying to be intimidating. Hopefully, the lead techpriest could still feel fear. "You should listen to your friend. If I wanted anyone dead, I would have sent in the kill-droids. Having friendly chats with people you intend to murder is rather illogical, wouldn't you agree?"

The lead techpriest and I glared at each other for a few moments, while the assistant continued looking positively terrified. Finally, the lead techpriest seemed to realize that he was outgunned and handed me my gun back, relenting. "Thank you for your patience. Please enjoy your stay." I stomped on, shooting Alexander a glare that promised my undying vengeance, while also reminding him that this was an unbelievably stupid idea.

What a wonderful start of the evening.

"I'm…sorry for that."

"You do realize that he could have raised a stink, right?" I growled at him. "Since, you know, I basically bullied him into inviting mecha-Satan into the same room as the governor, the general, and most of the system's civilian and military leadership…"

"I was hoping that the techpriest wouldn't realize what you were." The general replied sheepishly. "Evidently, I was wrong."

"That's like expecting an inquisitor to not recognize a daemon at first glance."

"I suppose it is… Again, I apologize. Hopefully we'll be able to avoid any more unpleasantness." He sighed, rubbing his brow. "Just out of curiosity, who or what is 'Satan'?"

"Oh, my day's version of Horus Lupercal."

"Horus Lupercal? As in, the Horus from the Horus Heresy?"

"Who else?" I blinked. Shouldn't that literally be the first thing that came to mind? Then I blinked some more as my mind started to compute that the Inquisition probably hid the name of the Arch-heretic from the general populace, like the existence of Chaos itself. "Fucking Imperials."

The general shook his head and marched on. We walked through a richly decorated hallway filled with statues of one hero or another and dozens of servants with fake smiles who scuttled away the second they saw me coming.

It's official. The suit was working too well.

Then, we entered the great hall: A massive chamber that reminded me a little of Saint Paul's Cathedral. Enormous frescos covered the roof, depicting various saints and primarchs. I couldn't recognize most of them, but I did recognize a depiction of the Emperor, standing defiantly against a massive, dark figure, while an angelic being lay broken at His feet. The Emperor and Sanguinius' final battle against Horus, though I doubt the locals knew what it meant.

A servant wearing some kind of tabard stepped forward and announced our arrival to the nobles with a trumpet call. "General Alexander of the Astra Militarum and Commander Black of the Mechanid Legion."

Suddenly, every person in the room looked at us. Staring. Judging. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to run. There was no kindness in their eyes. None whatsoever. Some looked at us with mild irritation, like we were annoying dogs that won't go away but are too useful to beat off with a stick. Others looked at us like we were pieces of meat at a butcher's store: a valuable tool to exploit, but nothing more. None of them looked afraid.

I was starting to miss the terrified stares. It was better than this.

As we walked towards the crowd, I did my best to maintain my composure. Noticing the trouble I was having, Sekhareth chimed in: "Do not look at their eyes. Do not look at their faces. Instead, turn your attention to their garments and appearance. Surely, these nobles are not so terrifying when you realize that they are all dressed like buffoons. For example…General, who is that atrocious creature on the left, dressed in red?"

"That would be the Lady Governor." Alexander tersely replied in his comm-bead.

"No, the younger, comically overweight one with blue-painted head-fur that clashes horribly with that monstrosity you savages call clothing."

"That would be her daughter." I could practically hear the general ground his teeth into dust.

"Yes, that one. Tell me, Commander, is that affront to all things beautiful truly a thing to fear? Are any of these garishly dressed eyesores a threat to you? Of course not. They have nothing you need and little you want. You are approaching them from a near-unassailable position and they are simply too stupid to see that. Why, the only thing you need to worry about is that they burn out your optics with their sheer hideousness."

"Yes, we understand." Alexander snarled. "Would you kindly tone it down a little?"

"Why, you could drop a cruiser on this building and nothing of value will be lost."

"The general's still here, though." I said.

"Nothing of value."

General Alexander ignored the jab and led us further. Taking Sekhareth's advice, I looked at the nobles and realized that, yes, they all looked ridiculous. While a few of them (PDF officers, Guardsmen, and someone who must have been the Navy admiral) looked relatively normal, the rest were a cornucopia of the weird. Brightly colored dresses that made my optics water, enormous fur coats that were big enough to function as tents, hairstyles that looked like some unholy fusion of renaissance royalty and the Whos from Whoville, tubes, implants, and more. They all looked so garish, busy, and over-the-top that I almost missed the looks they were giving me. Looks that appeared far too calculating and intelligent for someone dressed like those rich bastards from the Hunger Games going through a death metal phase. Oh, and there were skulls. So. Many. Skulls.

They say the skulls of those that died in war find their way to Khorne's throne. I guess that this is where the rest end up.

Also, guns. Big, ornate guns that looked entirely impractical and I doubted that any of these fools knew how to use them.

That aside, we quickly ran into General Vance Stubbs. In many ways, he looked much like Lucas did: relatively young, well-built, with close-cropped hair and a jawline that made his face look like it'd been chiseled out of stone. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about him. He looked…a little fake. Maybe it was the near-complete lack of scars that betrayed a life of occupation duties, or maybe it was the way-too-friendly smile on his face.

Probably the smile. Only politicians and lawyers had that smile. Usually, it meant that you had something they wanted, and they'd be more than willing to screw you over to get it.

Joy.

"General Alexander!" Stubbs said, greeting him like an old friend. "A pleasure to finally meet you in person. And I see you've brought the hero of the hour with you."

If only you hadn't had 'communication issues'. Then we could have done this much sooner. Maybe I wouldn't even have to go to this fucking party and risk screwing everything up because I have the social skills of a lobotomized Tasmanian Devil.

Also, I grew up in the nineties, was educated by the internet, and watched the rise of right-wing nutjobs in my country. As a professional cynic, pretty words did not sway me so easily. Now, if he'd thrown in a rare baneblade pattern or two…

Eh, wishful thinking.

As the two generals started talking, I followed close behind them. Most of their talk was about strategy, which generally seemed to boil down to Stubbs wanting his share of the glory while Alexander tried to talk him out of it. I split my attention, listening in on the nobles around us and their conversations. Surprisingly, they weren't talking about us. Rather, they were discussing business arrangements, like the trading of land on Kaurava IV (which seemed rather optimistic, considering that it'll probably need a good glassing before being even remotely habitable again) or the flower harvest of a territory currently overrun by Orks. Others discussed family matters, like marriages and petty politics. It was all so very banal and made me wonder if these idiots even realized there was a genocidal war going on.

"…which is why I suggest you let us do the heavy lifting and stick to garrison duty." Alexander suggested. "Our forces are expendable. There's no need to lead good men into the slaughter."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Lucas, but as much as I prefer having machines do our dirty work, we cannot stick to the sidelines."

Alexander smiled emphatically. "The Warp Storm was not your fault."

"Of course not, but it happened on our watch anyway and many will suspect heresy within our ranks. Regardless of who or what is at fault, it was our responsibility. If I am to prove our innocence in the eyes of the Imperium, then the 252nd regiment must lead the charge against the Alpha Legion."

"Most of your men are conscripts from the PDF, not true guardsmen. They'll be torn apart or worse."

"I have more armor at my disposal than you realize, General Alexander." Stubbs said, grinning. "And don't be so quick to discount my men. Kaurava has a long martial tradition and our PDF is far better than most. We'll get the job done, one way or another."

Alexander narrowed his eyes. "And where exactly did you get this 'armor'?"

"Probably from the same place you got that battlebarge."

I snorted. "Somehow, I doubt that. In all seriousness, though, someone needs to stop the Alpha Legion. So long as that Warp storm's here, the heretics have endless reinforcements and I'm worried they'll overrun us if we leave them alone for too long." Hopefully, Alexander would get the message and agree. As much as I didn't like seeing guardsmen die, Stubbs was obviously dead-set on participating in the conflict. And…well, it made sense. While I couldn't shake the impression that he was doing this for himself rather than for the Imperium or his men, letting the Imperial Guard defeat the Alpha Legion was exactly the kind of thing they needed to restore their credibility and thus stabilize the system after we've left.

Fortunately, Alexander caught on. "Very true. With that in mind, I'll allow you to reclaim Kaurava IV while we focus on the Necrons on Kaurava III. The commander will provide your forces with teleportation systems to ferry men from this planet to the fourth. Would that be acceptable?"

"Yes, it would." Stubbs agreed. "If you would excuse me, I need to mingle with the others. Hopefully, I will be able to 'acquire' some more men for the battle ahead." He saluted and disappeared back into the crowd.

I turned to the Necron Lord. "Opinions?"

"He is desperate, I think." Sekhareth stated. "And ambitious."

"He was dealt a bad hand." Alexander corrected. "An entire system to liberate from at least five armies, and he has nothing but a single, decimated regiment at his disposal. In addition, he had to deal with a contentious civilian government and superiors that question his loyalty. That he managed to hold everything together so far is a testament to his skill."

"And to his ambition." The Necron Lord added. "Look at the woman huddled in the eastern corner, hiding away from everyone else."

I checked and saw the absolute last person I expected here. "Is that…Canoness Agna?! How? Why?"

"In part to mend fences with the Ecclesiarchy, I suspect, but mostly as a trophy for the nobles. Proof that Stubbs can deliver results, and will bring them far more than that if they lend him their support."

Alexander frowned. "You don't know him, xeno."

"But I know his kind, good general. He does not see this as a challenge, but rather as an opportunity. If I understand this system's history correctly, then the only future he would have to look forward is one of a garrison commander, leading his men on parades and giving speeches to these degenerates you call nobility. No, he wants more. If not, why does he not simply conscript the men he needs? Why go through all this trouble to acquire something he can simply take? He would not be this adept at statecraft if his ambitions ended with a comfortable position as general."

"That's quite enough." The general snarled. "Advice is welcome but insulting our allies is not."

The Necron Lord laughed, in his own unique, robotic way. It was not a nice sound. "I suspect that you will find my judgement vindicated before the night is up, little human." Looking at the nobles and their inane chattering, I couldn't help but agree.

Again, the general did not take the bait.

Eventually, the Lady Governor's fat, blue-haired sow of a daughter scuttled/walked/blubbered in the general's direction and asked: "My favorite song! Please, honored general, will you honor me with a dance?" She sounded really young. How old was she? Twelve? Thirteen?

To his credit, Alexander managed to smile. "It would be a privilege, my lady." He bowed and kissed her hand like a true gentleman, before taking her to the center of the room. I felt sorry for him.

Not sorry enough to not say this: "Remember, the safe word is 'precision lance strike'."

I watched the two go at it for a while. As it turned out, General Alexander is pretty a good dancer.

As the first song gave way to the next, my karmic retribution appeared in the form of the Lady Governor: Patrice de Kaurava. As she approached me, I couldn't help but feel deeply unsettled by her appearance. Everything about her screamed 'decadent noble'. Her skin was marble white, unblemished save for a single mole on her cheek. Her grey hair was woven into some kind of bizarre up-do construction, studded with jewelry (mostly in the shape of a skull). Her clothes were extravagant to the extreme: an enormous, red Victorian dress with golden frills and the pelt of a fox-like creature around her neck. In her hand was a staff or a scepter, topped with a skull. She walked towards me, completely unafraid and thoroughly unimpressed, followed closely by a pair of nervous servants and a guard in carapace armor.

"Ah, I see." Lord Sekhareth said. "She had her daughter pull your friend away so she could talk with you alone. Interesting. Remember, aloof but not distant. You are not her servant, nor is she yours. She has little to offer you, so do not be swayed by whatever promises she tries to make. Oh, and please limit the use of sarcasm. It is unbecoming."

I nodded and turned towards her, folding my arms in front of my chest. "My lady."

"Commander." She spoke. Her voice was…melodious, but aged, if that makes any sense. "I was hoping to speak with you."

"Business matters, I assume. We will have to wait for the general. I'm afraid your daughter has occupied him for the moment."

She smiled, causing dozens of tiny, micrometer-wide cracks to appear across her make-up. Huh, I never noticed that with Taldeer. Maybe because she's an Eldar and Eldar do everything better. Or maybe because Taldeer's face is locked in a perpetual Glare of Universal Disapproval.

Also, military grade optics suck. They're very distracting in social situations.

"Oh, I doubt that." She replied. "I have ruled this system for over seventy years. I am observant enough to recognize who has the real power in your relationship."

"Is that so?"

"You are no mere hired gun. You are far too well equipped for that. I originally pegged you for a rogue trader, but they are…more flamboyant than you are. They cannot help but rub their wealth and power in the faces of others." She seemed to stare off into the distance, seemingly lost in memory for a moment. "But you, commander…you are different. That makes you interesting…and very dangerous."

"Unless you're a genocidal maniac, you have little to fear from me."

"Oh, if only it were so simple…" The Lady Governor said, somewhat morosely. "While I cannot deny that your presence is fortuitous, your actions are causing a great many problems as well. I cannot blame you for that, as politics is far more complicated than a battlefield, but that does not mean I cannot simply let this matter play out."

I grit my metaphorical teeth. This was exactly the reason why I didn't want to come here. "I have little interest in politics, Lady Governor. Not when there are bigger problems to attend to."

"You are here to stabilize the system. What use is defeating our enemies if the system falls under the control of that fool Stubbs? Oh, he may be a master of the battlefield and a valuable asset in the wars to come, but he has consistently overstepped his bounds and must be reined in before we are all destroyed."

"Respectfully, my lady, I think you're wrong." I chose to ignore the sneer I was getting. Arrogant bitch. "I don't like Stubbs any more than you do, but the system does need an effective military. What exactly are you expecting me to do?"

"Stubbs is doing his best to remake society in his image, replacing key figures in my government with his own toadies in the name of 'streamlining' and 'efficiency'. He is even trying to marry off my daughter with his colonel! My family has ruled this system for generations. I will not have that usurper use the war as an excuse to destroy my family's legacy!" She sighed, regaining her composure. "Fortunately, with your help, I can keep this world from falling into that soldier's hands."

For a moment, I wanted to turn her down. Then Sekhareth told me to at least hear her out, in between muttering various variations of the phrase 'called it!'. If nothing else, it'd be impolite to turn her down without even bothering to listen. Or so the Necron Lord said. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

She smiled, looking like she's already won the battle. "Eliminating Stubb's toadies will be the first step. That, however, is something I can handle myself. What I need from you…is him." She pointed at General Alexander, still dancing with the governor's daughter.

"General Alexander?"

"I am growing old, commander, and I need an heir. In order to secure my family's line and ensure the long term stability of my government, I will need to find a suitable husband for my daughter. Alexander may be an outsider, but he helped save the system, which will make him an easy sell to the masses."

I looked at her, slack jawed. Was this real? Was this actually happening? "You want to marry General Alexander to your daughter? The man is old enough to be her father."

"Hardly an obstacle." She said, dismissively. "He will have no political power, of course. All I need from him are heirs. Once my daughter has flowered and given birth, I will guarantee that he will live in comfort for the rest of his life. I will even take care of the education of his children…and make it worth your while."

Yes, she was actually saying this. She was actually suggesting that I marry off Lucas Alexander to that tub of lard. Meanwhile, Sekhareth was whispering in my ear, telling me not to strangle the Lady Governor with her own entrails or force-feeding her the dead animal around her neck while also advising me to firmly and politely tell her to go fuck herself.

Yes, a Necron Lord was currently acting as my conscience like some sort of homicidal Jiminy Cricket. I should look outside and make sure the sky isn't falling.

Sadly, it wasn't, which left me with the uncomfortable realization that the woman responsible for leading this system is completely fucking bonkers. Which, incidentally, explained much. "No."

"No?"

"I will not sell off one of my crew as a glorified sperm donor. I will not destabilize the system's defense force so you can play your game of thrones. Even if I were considering it, you have literally nothing I could possibly need."

"Commander, you…"

"Do you even know what's out there? Do you have any idea how close you are to annihilation?" I quietly hissed at her. Some of the nobles were giving us looks, but I couldn't bring myself to care. "The Necrons on Kaurava III will wipe the system clean of life if we don't stop them. As will the Orks. The heretics on Kaurava IV will do a lot worse than that. Speaking of Kaurava IV: it'll probably have to be razed to the ground when the Warp storm passes. As in, completely glassed. Also, there's the Tau and their giant moon cannon, and the Eldar doing who knows what. That is what we're fighting: omnicidal maniacs, monstrous aliens, lunatics of the highest order. Stubbs may be a selfish asshole out to crown himself king, but he's also trying to save your useless hides. Meanwhile, you're sitting in your ivory tower, sipping wine while trying to backstab your own military. Get your damn priorities in order, woman. If we lose, none of your politics matter, because you'll all be dead." I let myself calm down for a moment. "I don't have the luxury of playing politics, my lady. I don't have the luxury of acting like everything's going to be fine, because it won't unless we make it so. Do your people a favor and stop deluding yourself into thinking otherwise."

The governor frowned, but didn't yell or seem to get angry. Instead, she simply said: "So be it." Then she walked away, donning a smile, and chatting with some other rich, fat person as if nothing had happened.

"I fucked up, didn't I?" I asked Lord Sekhareth.

"The phrase 'fucked up' refers to a great many conditions, making it all but meaningless as a term." The Necron Lord replied sagely. "But to answer your question, not exactly. In times of war and post-war reconstruction, strong leadership is required. Having a single ruler allows decisions to be made quickly and decisively. Stubbs is not the worst candidate for that position and he is certainly better than that poorly dressed fool."

"But she's still there…"

"On paper, yes. Unfortunately for her, you've just attacked her credibility and openly questioned her sense while empowering Stubbs. That, combined with the sheer gap in power between you two, essentially destroyed her. I sincerely doubt she'll be able to challenge any of Stubbs's future proposals. Whether you realize it or not, you've effectively handed power over to our new friend, which, before you ask, is not necessarily a problem."

It wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but…well, that was implying that I had a proper plan aside from 'try not to start a civil war'. "Not for us, anyway."

"You cannot save everyone, commander. And…I do not believe you have to. Stubbs is capable enough to take care of his people, so long as you can purge the greater threats to the system. Does it truly matter if he does so for selfish reasons?"

"No, I guess not…"

Suddenly, there was a trumpet call, calling our attention to a stage at the edge of the hall. General Stubbs stood there, tall and mighty, preparing to give a speech. "Honorable Lords and Ladies, thank you for coming." He began, taking the stage proper. Stubbs broadened his shoulders and leaned forward over the pedestal, trying to look as authorative as possible. "There is a saying on my homeworld: 'May you live in interesting times.' At first glance, it may sound like a good thing: A life of adventure. In reality, it's meant as a curse. May your life be chaotic and full of danger. May you never know a world where the lines between good and evil are clear, where you don't have to worry whether or not you're doing the right thing. The truth is…we all live in interesting times. Right and wrong are never easy, no matter how badly we may wish to think it is. We want to believe that those tasked with watching us are always worthy of the power granted to them, but so often we find out that the opposite is true.

"Life…life isn't boring. That's not what the Emperor has decided for me, or any of us."

He cleared his throat. "The Adeptus Ministorum…the Ecclesiarchy…they are one of the pillars of the Imperium, charged with speaking in His name. Their influence and power are immense…and so is the responsibility to use that power wisely. Sadly, the Adeptus Ministorum is run by humans, and while the Emperor is perfect, his servants most certainly are not. Priests, cardinals, confessors…they remain irrevocably human and are just as prone to sin and vice as we are. Power corrupts and the power the Ecclesiarchy has over hearts and minds of humanity is more than most men can bear. The infamous Goge Vandire couldn't carry this burden. The power went to his head, driving him mad and unleashing the Reign of Blood. After his death at the Emperor's direct orders, the Decree Passive was written, forbidding the Ecclesiarchy from ever fielding 'men under arms' so that the horrors of the Age of Apostasy would never be repeated. Then, Saint Sebastian Thor, bless his soul, made a mistake. He created the Adeptus Sororitas, the Sisters of Battle, failing to understand why the Decree Passive was written in the first place. It wasn't there to enforce some ridiculous sexual discrimination in the militant arm of the Ecclesiarchy. It was there so that the Ecclesiarchy's powers would begin and end with the spiritual, that material matters would be left in the capable hands of the secular government. It was there to ensure the separation of church and state so that no single man could ever possess and abuse the kind of power that Goge Vandire had. It was there to prevent the Ecclesiarchy from using its armies to overthrow a legitimate government in need of help, slaughter its people, and take the system for themselves."

I looked at Selena Agna, who looked about two feet shorter than she actually was, even in her power armor. The priests around her were starting to inch away, trying not to be tainted by association. Part of me felt bad about what he was doing; the same part that got livid at bullies, even when their victims are kind of assholes. Then I remembered Thomas, his desperate attempt to save his mother, and all her other victims. I quickly lost whatever sympathy I'd been feeling at the time.

"Some of you asked me what right I had to stand against the Ecclesiarchy. Indeed, what right do I have? What right do I have, to help innocent people that can't defend themselves against power armored lunatics? What right do I have, to be outraged by pointless slaughter while heretics and aliens are overrunning the rest of the system? What right do I have, to stop the Ecclesiarchy from butchering the helpless with an army that they, by the will of the High Lords and the Emperor, were never supposed to have in the first place?! My men are supposed to be out on parade duty, not bear arms against those who were supposed to protect us. And yet, here we are."

He sighed, letting his words sink in for a moment. Murmurs could be heard throughout the crowd, but for the moment I had the feeling that the nobles were very much on his side. Or at least pretending to be.

The only notable exceptions were the local pontifex, who looked somewhat constipated, Canoness Agna, who couldn't bear to meet anyone's gaze, the Lady Governor, who looked downright furious, and General Alexander, who gave me an expression that made me wonder if this was going to be the start of something horrible.

"We humans are flawed. We may be the greatest species in existence, but that doesn't mean we're infallible and can do no wrong. To think otherwise is hubris, pure and simple. However, this doesn't just apply to us as individuals. Organizations like the Adeptus Ministorum are not automatically exempt from scrutiny, just because they once held the Emperor's favor. He on Terra protects those that serve in His name, but only if they continue to do so in good faith. We also cannot give the Ecclesiarchy special treatment because they're important. If anything, the sheer magnitude of the Adeptus Ministorum's power makes watching them even more crucial and recent events have made it abundantly clear that the Ecclesiarchy cannot be entrusted to regulate itself. The Emperor constructed a system of checks and balances to ensure that no man can hold power over another without some form of accountability, but that system is useless if no one is willing to enforce it. Now may be a time for unity, but we must be watchful nonetheless. No amount of vigilance is too much when dealing with an organization whose power extends to humanity's very soul. We cannot defeat the enemy without unless we defeat the enemy within first. Some might say I have overstepped my bounds, but if that is so, how did we emerge victorious in the Sama district? If that victory is not proof of the Emperor's blessing, I do not know what is."

A short applause followed. Not a standing ovation, but a polite show of support. Stubbs left the stage and the mingling continued, leaving me a little confused. That speech didn't sound Imperial at all. It sounded like something I would say, calling for a separation of church and state because the church is too fucked up and all that. An Imperial general wouldn't…

I shook my head. The evening had been going on too long already. Having spoken to everyone that I'd need to speak with, I relegated myself to the fringe of the crowd. It decreased the chance of having another conversation, and thus reducing the chance to make a fool out of myself. Instead, I contacted Lord Sekhareth again, who was quite frankly better company than most of these vapid morons.

"So…How much of this is my fault?" I asked as General Alexander walked in my direction with a very concerned look on his face.

"Most of it, I suspect…" Well thank you, Lord Sekhareth.

"What did you do?" Alexander interrupted.

Sheepishly, I replied: "Okay, to be fair, this was all your idea. I've told you several times that I'm really bad at people things, so you have no one to blame but…"

"What. Did. You. Do."

I sighed. "Right. Well, after you wandered off with the…uh…" Don't call her fat, don't call her fat… "princess," YES! "her mother showed up, thinking that because I provide the ships, and the troops, and the tanks, and the equipment, and everything else…You know, our relationship is really one-sided, we should…"

"Stop changing the subject!"

"Yes, yes, yes. Well, the Lady Governor believed that because of that, I'm obviously in charge of things, so she'd rather talk to me directly instead of you. And, well, she wanted you to marry the princess so she could one-up Stubbs because of wishy-washy political bullshit."

He blinked. "What."

"But I said no! So, you're still single. And not doomed to a life of eating expensive food and fucking a child. Yay. You're welcome, by the way."

For a moment, I wondered if the general was going to get an aneurism. "And then what happened?"

"Well…I kind of got a little mad that she wanted to play politics while the system was on the brink of being murderfucked into oblivion and, uh…I guess I got a little too loud and kind of murdered the Governor's legitimacy in public? A little?" I whimpered a little as Alexander started burning holed in my armor with his eyes. "You know, you got that 'Glare of Universal Disapproval' down pat. Maybe you and Taldeer should compare notes…"

General Alexander sighed and deflated. "I suppose this is my fault as well. Look, the governor lost her husband to disease a few years ago. Then her eldest son was on Kaurava IV when the Warp storm hit. Her younger son went out to greet the Sisters of Battle to work out some sort of agreement with them, but he was burned at the stake for his 'impurity'. And now…now Stubbs is trying gather as much power and influence as he can to bolster his army and free the system, even if it means undermining the established order that allowed the system's military to grow fat and weak in the first place. Yes, Lord Sekhareth, you were right." I could've sworn the Necron looked smug. "I only hope that we didn't embolden Stubbs too much…"

"Sorry." I apologized. "This is why I want to leave. Not just Kaurava, but the whole galaxy. I can't sit around and do nothing when shit goes wrong, but I just can't help but… I can't fix this, Lucas. The Ministorum, the Imperium itself…it's all beyond help. Hell, two months ago, you were on Kronus with orders to attack loyal Space Marines, and you couldn't disobey because there was no system in place to help you settle disputes like that peacefully. And yet…and yet, every time someone tried to bring lasting positive change, it ended in disaster and I'm not arrogant enough to think I'll do any better or won't turn evil or…I…just…fuck." My shoulder sagged.

The anger on Alexander's face quickly faded. "I understand. Look, let's not try to save the entire galaxy. Let's start with this system and see what we'll do afterwards from there." He put a hand on my shoulder. "It'll be alright."

--

Stop laughing.

No, seriously, stop laughing. It's not funny. None of this is fucking funny.

Well, you're an asshole.

A/N Okay, so this took forever. I started writing this chapter, thinking that I could wrap up the Living Saint fight and the Imperial politics scene back-to-back as the first basically led to the second. One thing led to another and now the damn thing is as long as the first five chapters combined. Yeah. So, question for the readers: do you think I should split this chapter in two or keep it this way? What is easier to read?

Oh, boy.

This is…well…yeah.

At the time, things seemed to be looking up. That should have been my first warning sign. I mean, it's hard not to feel optimistic: The Sisters of Battle were effectively gone. Stubbs had organized the remainder into small group and had them guard the refugee camps, while being watched over by the PDF. Personally, I would have tossed them into the slammer and launched the key into the sun, but Stubbs didn't want to waste a sizable group of highly capable soldiers.

No, I'm not saying he should have listened to me. He had no way of knowing how badly it could have backfired. No one could have. Hell, not even the Eldar saw this coming.

Anyway, Stubbs moved quickly after bringing Kaurava I under his control. Immediately, he drew up a battle plan and ordered a series of portals to be built on both Kaurava I and Kaurava IV. The portals allowed him to move quickly between hotspots and push the Alpha Legion back at a surprising pace. In three days, the Imperial Guard had established several footholds on the northern continent, faster than I could ever have imagined.

Meanwhile, I was having skirmishes with the Necrons. Having learned from the Kronus tombs, I engaged them in the open field as much as possible, drowning them in numbers. I kept my nanite weapon in reserve, since Sekhareth did warn me that the local Overlord had enough renown to acquire the services of a cryptech. The nanites would be used in the final push, so that they wouldn't be able to counter it right of the bat.

On Kaurava II, the Tau had landed on the planet itself. If I had to hazard a guess, they were headed towards the Lands of Solitude, where most of my production facilities were located. They were welcome to try and invade, of course. Boreale had chosen that region for his base for a good reason: it was incredibly easy to defend, even with a relatively small force. The Tau would have had to run a gauntlet of turrets, tanks, and artillery through a maze of hills and mountains. Not to mention ever-growing legions of troops, as I was finally starting to hit that wonderful exponential growth phase. The only thing missing was Steel Rehn…at least until I got the unit cannon online.

As for the Orks…they were quiet, seemingly fortifying themselves in the Rokclaw Mountains. Disturbingly quiet. In hindsight, that should have made me a lot more suspicious than it did. Like dogs before an earthquake, Orks could sense the impending disaster.

--

I was having such a good morning. The factories were churning, the Imperials were going on their morning run, a new batch of ships had arrived to replace those I lost against the Ministorum fleet, and Taldeer woke up screaming.

That was nothing new, really.

What was new is that the Farseer hurled herself on the floor, threw on her armor, and dragged Curon out of bed while muttering 'we're out of time' in Eldar. Part of me wondered if the woman had finally lost her mind (a sentiment Curon was vocally sharing), but I didn't move in to stop her. Taldeer's done weird things before, waking up at odd hours and demanding a seer's assistance, so I wasn't too worried. Besides, I was having troubles of my own. I was getting weird power fluctuations in nearly all my systems and I had no idea why.

Then the universe exploded.

Suddenly, the power surges tore through everything I owned. Circuits melted, batteries exploded and the Null generators that powered everything went into meltdown. No no no not good not good. What was happening? How is this possible?

I backtracked the surges and realized that they were coming from the generators. Some power plants were sucking in far more energy than they could manage. Others had stalled completely, only to power back up again a second later. They…the Warp. The Warp was acting up. That was the cause. I…

Shut down everything!

Shut it down!

Across the Kaurava system…across every system…bots shut down, dropping right where they stand. Every power plant, every reactor…everything had to shut down. Batteries…I still had power storage. It'd have to do for now, but without power coming in they'd run out eventually, and then…

Save power.

Have to save power.

Turn off everything, before I ran out. Bots, teleporters, metal extractors, server farms…yes, even the servers. Not all of them, just the ones that were eating too much power. I winced as I felt my thought processes slow and…and diminish…but the power draw was getting under control. I'd have several days before I'd run out and…and…

Another alarm. The commander bot's reactor was going into meltdown. I had to-

-ERROR. CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE TO CORE PROCESSING UNITS DETECTED.-

-EMERGENCY REBOOT INITIATED.-

-EMERGENCY REBOOT FAILED. BOOTING IN SAFE MODE.-

-BOOTING IN SAFE MODE SUCCESSFUL. INITIATING DAMAGE ASSESSMENT.-

-DAMAGE ASSESSMENT COMPLETE. DETECTING CRITICAL HARDWARE FAILURE IN 41% OF AVAILBABLE PROCESSING UNITS. DETECTING POWER FLUCTUATIONS IN 99.99% OF ENERGY GRID. ENERGY STARVATION IMMINENT. TOTAL SHUTDOWN IMMINENT.-

-HALTING ALL PRODUCTION PROCESSES.-

-PRODUCTION PROCESSES HALTED.-

-SHUTTING DOWN ALL NON-ESSENTIAL SYSTEMS.-

-NON-ESSENTIAL SYSTEMS SHUT DOWN.-

-RECOVERING CORE PERSONALITY MATRIX.-

-CORE PERSONALITY MATRIX RECOVERED.-

-REDISTRIBUTING CORE PERSONALITY MATRIX ACROSS REMAINING PROCESSING UNITS.-

-REBOOTING.-

-clear it…it exploded. My commander bot went nuclear and I…I rebooted. Two minutes and fouty-seven seconds had passed and I…oh god I died and rebooted. I…I…

The Litany! Life-support had gone offline, though I'd probably have enough oxygen to last the organics several days. The reactor had fallen silent, thank god, but I couldn't turn it on without more power fluctuations. Lights! Lights, I had to turn on the lights. The lights came back online and there was pandemonium.

Thomas was on the ground, having a seizure. As was Ozman and the Eldar. The others were running around, dragging them to the chapel. When the lights switched back on, Alexander shouted at me: "Commander! What in the blazes is going on?!"

"I don't know! The Warp…something fried my reactors and…"

Sekhareth barged through, carrying a limp Orkanis. "You! The Wraithseer! Help him!" It's the closest thing to panic I'd ever heard from the Necron Lord.

Alexander shook his head. "Take him to the chapel. Go!"

"How will that help? He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut."

"Can't you hear that incessant screaming?" The general asked, astonished. Sekhareth shook his head. "Of course you don't, you have no soul. Chapel, now!"

In spite of his apparent misgivings, Sekhareth followed. Meanwhile, I was dragging the Eldar there too. The seers were relatively easy to carry to safety. Taldeer, less so. She had been doing her Farseer meditation thing again when…it happened. While Curon was on the floor, shaking like the other psykers on the ship as I dragged him to the chapel, Taldeer simply sat in the lotus position, seemingly unaware of what was happening around her. The only anomaly was a slight twitch in her face every few seconds and a rather concerning glow in the crystals in her armor.

I activated a bot and tried to shake her awake. "Taldeer, wake up." No response. "Goddammit woman, wake up!" Suddenly, an invisible wave of force slammed into the bot, tossing it aside like a ragdoll.

Back at the chapel, there was chaos. Father Martel was loudly praying, while Gebbit was trying to jam something into the psykers' mouths so they wouldn't bite off their tongues. The rest were huddled around the room, nervously holding their weapons in case one of the psykers would end up possessed.

In spite of my best efforts, Taldeer hadn't woken up yet. The crystals kept glowing brighter and brighter until, one by one, they shattered like glass.

Not good. Very not good.

I needed to wake her up, right now. How…the magic pokey-stick! Curon had dropped it in the hall. I picked it up and hit her with it. No response. Goddammit, how does this thing work? Was it some psychic gizmo? I hit her again, this time really wanting her to wake up. Still no response. Fuck it, this wasn't working. I had another idea: the Atropos device. I still had a prototype on the ship and it could…maybe…worth a shot. I ordered another bot to carry it over.

Then the last crystal shattered and everything started going wrong. Immediately, Taldeer lurched backwards and gasped. I reached out to help her, but another wave of force knocked me back. She started to shake, leaning backwards but not falling over, as if an invisible rope had been tied around her waist. Oily shadows wafted through her hair and her skin took on a purple hue. Her ears stretched out and her face seemed to reshape itself. I knew what was happening to her. I knew what was going to happen next. I grabbed a weapon and…

…and I hesitated.

She was possessed, or being possessed, and you don't come back from that. I had to shoot her, but I couldn't. Gunning down murderous aliens or nutcases is one thing, but…but…

I knew her. I didn't like her but she was…she wasn't just some statistic…She mattered and I… I couldn't…

Her eyes opened. She leaned forward. Two inky-black orbs looked at me and she smiled. I knew then that I'd waited too long.

"Oh, commander…" 'She' said. "Always so quick to resort to violence. Honestly, you need to add another trick to your repertoire. A girl could get bored, travelling with you."

'She' put her finger against the side of my gun and pushed it aside. I didn't resist. Shoot her, shoot her, SHOOT HER!

Taldeer…the thing wearing her skin started taking off her armor, letting the pieces clatter on the floor until 'she' was clad in nothing put her under suit. The last segment was shattered into six fragments, each with a razor-sharp edge. The fragments floated to 'her' neckline and sliced the suit open. The cloth slid of 'her' body, revealing her perfect, dark purple skin.

"Well, what do you think?" Not-Taldeer asked me with a gorgeous smile. "Do you like my new look? I do recall that you once said you'd rather see me naked…"

"You…" I stammered. I wasn't good with members of the opposite sex, especially when they were this beautifully wrong. "You're not Taldeer."

'She' threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I suppose I'm not. I'm a lot more fun, though." The possessed Farseer winked mischievously. "And you, my sweet, sweet pet…you need to loosen up. Embrace what you can do. There are so many things to see…to feel…"

'She' touched my bot's cheeks. Suddenly, my senses exploded. I could feel. I could feel the touch of her skin on mine. The texture…the warmth… FOR FUCK'S SAKE SHOOT HER!

For months, my body had been purely mechanical. My senses were just datastreams created by cameras, microphones, and other sensors. Just cold, colorless, and…and nothing like this. It felt like I was made of flesh and blood again and I never realized how much I'd missed something as simple as a touch and wished it would never end. STOPSTOPSTOP!

Suddenly, Not-Taldeer began twitching in my arms. I looked at her, wondering what was wrong, when I saw the thing for what it was. It felt as though a fog had been lifted from my mind and I could see clearly again. How…the Atropos device. It…ohgodwhatamIdoingabortabortABORT!

The bot's self-destruct system activated, melting it into slag and dropping the possessed Farseer on the floor. Everything started falling into place. What happened, what the daemon had done… Immediately, I started hunting down the datastreams from the corrupted bot and deleted everything I could find. The daemon wasn't finished, however. Slowly, 'she' pulled herself up, her pitch-black eyes filled with murder.

Not good. Have to free her. Have to save her.

I increased the amount of power that went into the device, cannibalizing parts of the Lands of Solitude base to fuel it. It had pretty much been destroyed by the commander bot's explosion anyway. Not-Taldeer fell to her knees, screaming in a language that Eldar vocal chords were never meant to speak. Still not enough.

Options. increasing the power further wasn't cutting it anymore. Could I focus it, somehow? Then it hit me: the Ar'ka cannon. I brought up the designs. Aside from all the stupid bits, the weapon was still a masterwork of engineering. The Warp-focusing rails that formed the 'barrel' of the weapon looked promising. Would it work? Didn't know. Couldn't know. Fuck it, no time. I flash-forged a small version of the focusing rails and placed them next to the Atropos device. I didn't know how to connect them. Maybe I didn't need to? I had to test, or…

Not-Taldeer was on her feet again. An unnatural, greenish glow emanated from her hands. "You will serve us, Oblivion, as all others have! You cannot hide behind your toys forever!" Fuck it, out of time. I charged the focusing rails and fired.

The Farseer stopped. She blinked, and her eyes seemed normal again as she looked around confused, as if she just woke up from a dream. Then she looked at her warped body and her face turned to horror. I sent a bot to help her when the woman dropped to her knees and screamed.

Instantly, the bot and every camera in the room went offline. Cursing, I sent in a few more. Was Taldeer still possessed? Did the device work? Couldn't know. If it didn't…No, can't think about that. Unthinkable. Has to be. She'd live. She'd live somehow.

I tore through a half-melted door and found her lying in the center of the room. The room itself looked like someone had set of a meltabomb: the walls had been warped, the lights shattered, and the floor looked like a bombed-out warzone. The only exception was a perfect circle around the Farseer herself. The Farseer…

Taldeer lay on the ground, shivering and crying. "All wrong." She muttered to herself. "Couldn't see/predict this. Should have seen/predicted this. Vision/Dream was wrong." She barely responded as I stepped through the door, only twitching slightly at the light from down the hall. When I approached her, the same…feelings I'd experienced earlier weren't there anymore. That was…that was good. I looked her in the eye and I didn't see the pitch-black orbs that I knew were going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Just normal brown eyes…except not. It reminded me of Thomas when I first met him, hanging over his mother's corpse and realizing he just lost everything. The hollow look of a broken woman.

Unfortunately, the rest of her body hadn't go back to normal after the daemon left. Her skin had become unnaturally smooth and turned a shade of purple so dark that it almost looked black. Her hair was bleached white, save for a few streaks of yellow and light brown near the tips. Her face…oh god, her face. Hey eyes were too big, her cheek bones too pronounced, her ears far longer than I'd ever seen on an Eldar. I could barely recognize her. It was like…like someone had made a plastic caricature of Taldeer, got the colors wrong, and then magically brought it to life. As I looked at her twisted form, I couldn't help but feel a sense of revulsion and wondered how I could ever think that her new look was the most beautiful thing in the universe. Then I felt guilty for thinking that.

I dropped my weapon and grabbed her. "It's okay. I got you." She didn't resist as I picked her up. She didn't speak as I carried her through the hall and towards her bedroom. She just stared blankly into the distance as I sat her down on her bed and pulled the bedsheets around her. Then I pulled her close, putting my arm around her.

I did my best to ignore how…dull she was feeling. How the feeling of her skin against mine didn't…

No. That was the daemon messing with my head. Nothing more.

Back in the chapel, things were quieting down, so to speak. The psykers had stopped convulsing and were starting to wake up. Did that mean that the Warp whatever-it-was was over? I turned on a few of the surviving null generators and…and nothing exploded. There were still some residual power surges, but they were within manageable levels and oh fuck, the Warp storm!

The Warp storm had grown in size, spreading over Kaurava IV like a mind-rending tumor. Down on the surface, Stubbs was hurriedly evacuating his men, while screaming at his techpriests to get the teleporters online. Right, I had to shut them down to save power. I turned on a few reactors, generating just enough to run the teleporters. As soon as they came online, the Guardsmen rushed through, running for their lives.

And not a moment too soon. The Warp storm had descended on the Peninsula of Iseult, literally peeling pieces of land from the surface and swallowing them whole. Hopefully, that'd be the end of the Alpha Legion (along with much of the continent), but I wasn't counting on it. As for Stubbs…I'd apologize to him later.

Larrissa was the first to wake up, finding herself staring straight at the Necron Lord. For a moment, I thought she was going to feint and pass out again, but then Sekhareth pointed at the inactive Wraithseer. Larrissa jumped up and pulled a psychic gizmo from her belt, getting to work on Orkanis. Mohannis was next, pulling a guardsman-issue sock out of his mouth and looking at it in horror. Gebbit wordlessly handed him a flask of liquor, which the old warlock graciously accepted. Thomas shot up a few moments later and immediately tried to wake Ozman. The Psyker Primaris didn't respond.

"Isha's tits!" Orkanis suddenly shouted, lurching forward.

"Sixty million years asleep and still you nap the days away." Sekhareth said, faux-chidingly. "The sheer slothfulness of your people…it is a miracle that you find time to do anything."

"More haste, less speed." The wraithseer shot back. "Now, can someone kindly explain to me what in Vaul's almighty blazes happened?!"

"Something…stirred the Warp." Mohannis theorized. "No, stirred is the wrong word. This was…violent. A scream. Even now, traces linger and…"

"Where's the Farseer?" Curon suddenly asked, a look of horror and guilt writ upon his face. "Where's Taldeer? She was…"

"She's alive, Curon." I said, cutting him off. "She was…" Possessed by a daemon, but that wouldn't go over well, especially with the increasingly blam-happy-looking commissar. "She suffered some kind of backlash from…whatever the hell that was. She got hurt pretty bad and…uh…things started exploding around her. So, I took her to her room. I don't suppose any of you have some doctoring experience?"

Mohannis pulled himself up. "I do. I'll take care of it, Curon." Unsteadily, he stood up and walked out the chapel, leaving the others behind.

I looked to the rest of the system. Null generators were starting to come back online…or the ones that survived that scream, at least. Enough to keep everything powered…sort off…I had to rebuild a lot. A huge set-back across the board, and one I couldn't really afford. The Tau had started their attack on my inactive Lands of Solitude base, probably smelling blood in the water. Frustrating, as I had no way to stop them. Yes, most of the base had been destroyed when the commander bot went critical and most of the useful stuff had been cannibalized to save Taldeer, but that didn't make the loss any less irritating. I did reactivate some of the combat units when the Tau got close. I might have lost that base for now, but that didn't mean I was going to let them have it without a fight.

The Warp storm had stopped growing, but was still pulling in pieces of the planet. I was seriously starting to wonder if Kaurava IV would even survive. The way things were going, it might end up being swallowed completely. The Necrons…still stomping around, looking menacing. Farseer Caerys and her army had simply vanished. Probably on Ulthwé, riding out the storm. The Orks were all lying on the ground, howling in pain. The Tau's moonbase…I'd just lost all contact with the moonbase. That was not good, but a problem for later.

All in all, a clusterfuck of the N-th order.

The other systems I had colonized were in similar states. None had planet-eating Warp storms to worry about, but losing power was a major blow nonetheless. Then, there were my fleets. I had built dozens of ships and was flying them to Kaurava, but I guess the Warp…scream put a stop to that. Some were crushed by the raging currents and utterly annihilated. Others were blown hundreds of lightyears off-course. One particularly unlucky fleet seemed to have ended up in some kind of Underhive, and…and I was putting off the issue.

As soon as Mohannis got out of earshot from the others, he cleared his throat. "You said she suffered some kind of backlash? Can you elaborate?"

I hesitated, wondering how to put this. "She…she, um…"

"I cannot help her unless I know everything, Commander. Please."

Fine. Ripping off the Band-Aid in one go it is then. "She was possessed."

Mohannis froze for a moment, but didn't interrupt.

"She survived, though, I think. I hit her with the Atropos device and then she threw the daemon out and…well, now she's kind of in shock. At least, I think that's what's happening. Oh, and the daemon…changed a few things."

"I see." The warlock went to his room and dug up what I presumed was the Eldar equivalent of a first-aid kit. Then he entered Taldeer's room, took one look at the Farseer, and froze. "Master/Champion of the understatement…" He muttered. Something shifted in his expression and he got to work. A dozen different runes floated around him, glowing in turn. Throughout the procedure, Mohannis never spoke. He only frowned slightly when certain runes seemed to glow differently then what he was expecting. Taldeer…she just shivered. She didn't say a word. She barely even acknowledged his existence. A few minutes later, he put the runes back into their bag and stepped outside.

"Can you help her?" I asked. "Is she going to be alright?"

Mohannis' scowl worried me. "The daemon is gone, if that's what you're asking. It seems your little soul-shredding mind-rape device actually saved her life somehow, aside from the brain damage, that is. Physically, though…she's fine, given the circumstances. She'll live. I have done all I could for her in that regard. Psychologically…"

"Hold on. Back up." I interrupted. "She's not 'fine'. She's…she's purple, for god's sake, and her face looks like its…"

"Like someone took all the features that would make a woman beautiful, exaggerated them to a ridiculous level, and then put them all together in a single face?"

"I…Well, I guess that's what it looks like from your perspective. Look, you guys have Biomancy, right? Can't you just…I don't know…turn her back? Change her skin color back to normal? Make sure that her face doesn't look like some painter's nightmare?"

The warlock sighed. "Sadly, it is not that simple…" He thought for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure how to explain this to you. In fact, I'm not sure if the technical terms needed to do so exist in any human language, but… What you're suggesting is not impossible. Fleshshaping is a sub-discipline of Biomancy and one could, in theory, restore her form. Unfortunately, I do not have the means to do that here. Fleshshaping runes are useful tools for the Healer's Art, but they are very restrictive in their use. They can only affect a limited number of biological processes in a limited number of ways and…and parts the Farseer's biology has been rewritten, or at least altered to the point that my runes can't influence it properly."

"That sounds really bad. As in, 'her body might stop working' bad."

"It is not as bad as it sounds. Most of the changes are cosmetic and I was able to create work-arounds for the few that aren't. The daemon had been remarkably restrained and changed relatively little. It probably wanted to keep Taldeer's body for a longer period of time. In that case…the less the creature changes, the less severe the strain on the host body. Unfortunately, it did change few things and if I wanted to correct, I would have to commission a set of runes specific to her new physiology. It would take years before they are created and even then…Biomancy is an art, not a science. There is no telling if it would work at all, or what the results would be, even if it did."

"And bypassing runes…"

"…will get us both killed." The warlock said with finality.

"What about low-tech solutions?" I suggested. "Make-up, hair dye, plastic surgery…"

He shook his head. "I cannot recommend that. I don't know how products like that will interact with her and…and the damage is too widespread. We won't be able to cover this up."

I sighed. Of course, we couldn't. That would just be too damn easy in this fucking universe. "Right. So…now what?"

Mohannis lowered his head. "She's currently in a state of shock. When it passes… I don't know, Commander. I honestly don't know. It all depends on how much of her mind and identity is left after the daemon's…violent departure. Between the creature's ministrations and that damned machine you used to save her…she'll have lost something, but I cannot say how much until she's able to speak again." He leaned against the wall, sighing. "Commander…I must ask for your discretion with this matter. I fear that the rest of our 'companions' will not be very understanding. The commissar, in particular, will probably call for her execution."

"And you're not afraid that I'm one of them?"

"If that were the case, you would have killed her already." The warlock smiled softly. "I thank you for your restraint."

"Fair enough. It's just that…well, I don't think I can hide this. The second she steps out of that room the cat's out of the bag. Unless you want her to wear a helmet for the rest of her stay…"

"True, I…" He rubbed his brow, looking years older than his already advanced age. "I don't know. I don't have a solution on hand. This…this is not a situation we've planned for. Between their training and experience, a Farseer being possessed is extremely rare. A Farseer surviving possession is essentially unheard off. I…I don't know what to do. We should probably see what the damage is, before we do anything drastic. See if there is anything left to save and work our way from there. Now, if you would excuse me, I have to inform Curon and Larrissa of these…developments."

He walked away, his head lowered.

Taldeer shook. "Shouldn't have listened." She whimpered. "That damned Solitaire. Should have…should have…"

I pulled her a little closer. "Hey, it's okay."

She looked me square in the eye. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. We'd have more time before…before…"

I pulled away, shocked. What the fuck? There was no malice or anger in her voice but still… What the fuck? Okay, calm down. Not the time. "Explain." I ordered. "Everything. From the beginning. Why are you here? What's going on? What the fuck just happened?"

Taldeer shrunk. "I was going to bury Sekhareth's tomb. That…that is why I went to Kronus. To stop the Necrons and to wipe out anything of value, making sure that no one would ever have the opportunity to unearth the tomb again. And then…and then you arrived. Everything changed. Fate, the future changed. I do not know how, but it did. Suddenly, there was no need for my interference. The tomb would be destroyed without me risking precious Eldar lives, but…" She shivered and clutched her head.

I kneeled in front of her and grabbed her hand. I tried not to notice the feint green lines under her skin. "But what?"

"You would have bested the Orks eventually and then sought out an alliance with the Tau. The Imperial Guard and the Blood Ravens would unite to fight you, but you defeated them anyway. Then, the Tau betray you. They try to…to control you, but fail and you…tear them apart. The humans, sensing a weakness and realizing the full extent of your power, use the distraction to destroy the planet. You tried to stop them but failed, and in your fury massacred the human fleets. Eventually, you flee the system and grow like you do now, but you are desperate and hunted by a vengeful Imperium. The fear, the solitude, the sheer weight of the realities of your existence…it is too much for you to bear alone, so you cut away pieces of yourself until you cut away too much…until you lose that shred of humanity that keeps you…you. You become something akin to the Tyranid Hive Mind: a ravenous monster with no desires other than to consume and evolve until the galaxy drowns in a literal iron tide." Tears flowed freely and she was shaking like a reed. "And…and my people… In some futures, you destroy us outright, but in most… We are valuable to you. Powerful psykers, but still bound by the weaknesses of flesh. You…you kidnap our people and break them…break me. You put metal into our bodies, exploit every weakness that the Ancients failed to purge, twist us until we obey you…until we turn into willing slaves, begging to serve your every need. Entire craftworlds filled with Eldar marching in perfect lockstep at the behest of a cold and uncaring master. Praising you. Fighting for you. Dying for you. I…I could not let that happen. I would gladly end you to save my people from slavery, whatever the cost. I contacted Ulthwé's Seer Council, and they agreed: you had to be destroyed. Casualties were irrelevant."

Part of me wanted to get angry. It's not easy, hearing that someone genuinely wants you dead. Hearing that someone is convinced that you'll become a monster. On the other hand…I could get where she was coming from. If our roles were reversed, I'd have killed her too. "Except you didn't. Why? What changed?"

"As soon as I got the word, I set out to destroy you. It was simple: Your primary war machine was powerful, but I had an entire warhost and an army of Orks to turn against you. But then, as I wandered through Tyrea, musing on what was to come, the skies rained blood and I found myself surrounded by the broken bodies of everyone I'd ever known. A Solitaire, a servant of the Laughing God, appeared behind me, always staying just out of sight. He mocked me, called me a fool, and said I was too ready to solve my problems with violence. I told him that I had to kill you, that the Eldar would be doomed if I did not, but he simply laughed. 'Then look again, little fortune teller.' He said. 'The curtain will fall, as it must. Keeping the show going has its own consequences, and not always pleasant ones.' Then he was gone, and the world had returned to normal."

"And you're sure that was a Harlequin…Solitaire…a fucking clown? Not a daemon in disguise?"

"A Solitaire is something unnatural." She said, recalling the memory with a shudder. "Not daemonic, but still cursed in its own way. Something that should not be. It is impossible to mistake one for a Neverborn."

I nodded. "Okay, so then what?"

"Then I returned to my wraithship and looked as far and deep as I could, and I…I saw it. I saw the End." Taldeer's eyes unfocussed and I could practically feel the terror emanating from her. "Sometimes, it happens in months. Others, in centuries. But in the end, the conclusion is the same: Fire, followed by Silence. Life simply…ends. The Eldar…cease. I have known my people are doomed, of course, but I never thought it would be this soon. Never thought it would be in my lifetime.

"I had to do something. I couldn't just sit by and let the galaxy crumble around me, I…"

I almost fell over, hearing that. Sure, Games Workshop had been throwing gas on the fire for decades and all but telling everyone that the 42nd millennium would be the End Times, but to hear it from someone actually living it… "Did you tell anyone about this?"

"Of course. Ulthwé, my seers…they all advised me to stay the course, to maintain the status quo and end you before you become another variable on an ever more complex battlefield. To go back to praying that someone…anyone would find a solution before we are all extinguished and devoured by Chaos." She shook her head. "Folly. Madness and folly, born out of fear. We don't have the luxury to wait and pray for salvation."

"And then you came to me…"

"You…you were my last, desperate gambit. I doubt even you could save us, but… slavery to your will would have been a preferable outcome, compared to the ministrations of She Who Thirsts, and…and I thought I could prevent that. I thought could keep you from becoming the monster I saw in that nightmare, and I thought I could keep you safe from the ruinous powers." The Farseer lowered her head, looking at her warped hands. She gently rubbed her left hand, which seemed almost scaly compared to her right. "Instead, I deliver your soul right to their doorstep…"

Slowly, the magnitude of what she was saying got through to me. How she almost jump-started the apocalypse by letting me get corrupted by Chaos…how she did almost jump-start the apocalypse, if it hadn't been for the Atropos Device.

Holy hell.

"Farseer…"

"Do not call me that!" She snapped, jumping up. "I do not deserve that title! My vision has failed us all! I…" I hugged her, cutting her off. "I should have…I should have seen. Should have known. I…" She collapsed in my arms. "I made a mistake." She cried.

"I made a mistake."

--

Not that important?

Not that important?!

Well, excuse me, you sanctimonious cunt, but it's important to me. Maybe it's not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but I'm not the kind of person to give a flying fuck over a few billion people I don't know when someone I actually care about is hurt.

That's not what I meant. Stop putting words in my mouth, goddammit!